Woman Without Time
by Taloola1x
Summary: Dean Winchester will die. That much is certain. Brought back to life by the very beings she despises, Eve must follow their every whim. Their first command - kill Dean Winchester. After that, who knows? Follow Eve as she delays the inevitable and embarks upon the journey that will be her ultimate undoing, as she is forced to finally consider what it is that she has become.
1. Prologue

**Hi guys!**

 **Now I know there is an abundance of supernatural stories on here, but I started the series this year, and of course I adore it.**

 **Which is why I had to write something, anything, just to get rid of the craving. So here is my Supernatural fanfic!**

 **Not gonna lie, I'm a definite Dean girl, I love the guy. So this fic is focused on Dean, but I'm hoping to not eclipse the other characters because of this, because I love Sammy and Cas too, obviously. So they will definitley not be minor rolls in this, and they will appear frequently with their own little side stories/agendas.**

 **This is gonna be a long one guys, and I hope I avoid unnecessary fillers/chapters, and I truly welcome any criticism, be it constructive or positive, so don't be shy. If you feel like I'm not writing the guys true to style let me know, I want to capture their personalities as much as possible.**

 **One last thing, the fic is set sort of in season 8, but look at it in a way that's like a seperate series. Like series 8.5, it's its own story, just set at that time in their lives, as I dont just want to inject the OC into the story that supernatural already has and just have her say a few lines that make her relevant.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Prologue:

The light burns.

It's so fierce that for a second I fear that if I open my eyes, the organs will burn right out of my head.

How long has it been? How many years have passed now?

Too many. Far too many.

I open my eyes slowly, vision returning in a hazy mess, piecing together bit by bit as it pierces the veil of darkness that's been my home for God knows how long. Alongside the half assed return of sight, feeling crawls through my limbs at an agonisingly slow pace, parts of my body being freed as the seconds tick by. Pins and needles announce themselves across my arms, through my legs, a ferocious burn that chips away whatever it is that's encased me.

I flex my fingers experimentally, objects in my field of vision becoming clearer and clearer. Raising one hand, I squint, not sure what to expect. When flesh – albeit pale from lack of exposure to the sun for so long – greets my eyes, I smile, teeth throbbing in unison with my restarted heartbeat. The darkness inside stretches, yawning, awakening from its slumber.

As expected, as soon as I relax inky black tendrils begin to swirl into appearance across my skin, smoke rising as it consumes my hands, claws extending without prompting. Like onyx stone, they're a sight for sore eyes, and the inner monster purrs with approval as I allow it a bit of leg room, speaking metaphorically. The darkness is like a deadly glove, and it writhes its way up my forearm, stopping short of my elbow.

It's only when the silence – unnoticed before – becomes deafening that I bother to look up, finally acknowledging those who have come to undoubtedly enslave me.

Who is it this time? A high level demon, maybe?

They'd have to be strong, that's for sure. Strong enough to invoke the curse. Only the harshest of sacrifices can release the bonds that bind me here. Wherever here is.

Wide eyes meet my own, half a dozen women staring up at me on my pedestal, mouths ajar. Some look terrified, those standing further back, and others look excited, the one in the front clutching the one thing that will dictate how this situation we've got ourselves into plays out. I narrow my eyes at them, taking in their distressed states. They look a little worse for wear, but not very threatening.

So it's definitely a surprise when a knife thuds into my shoulder, penetrating deep enough to have me wincing. None of the women threw it, so it looks like we have even more company.

I raise a brow, eyeing the dagger as I pull it out of my flesh. The slight sting is barely noticeable as the wound begins to knit itself back together, and the blade itself, despite being coated in my blood has an intricate design carved into its sides. Something recognisable, although I can't quite place it.

Three men stand to the right of the women a little ways off, and by their equally agitated postures I gather that they're not with the women, at least, not in a friendly way.

It's almost comical the way they're eyes widen as my gaze settles on them, their bodies tensing as one. The one in front has his arms spread out across the other two, almost as if he's protecting them.

Cute.

"Dean!" The long haired, tall one in the back snaps, and the one in front reacts, eyes flickering to him before settling on me again.

"What?! I was aiming for her heart, sue me for trying."

Long haired shakes his head, and I smile slowly, canines lengthening considerably. All three stiffen in response.

"Kill him, kill Dean Winchester! Kill them all!"

The shrill voice comes from the woman in front from earlier, still clutching the object. Blood runs from an open wound on her lip, and the smell hits me as she's draws my attention.

It's like being doused in gasoline, the smell of tainted blood, oh so recognisable.

"Witch!" I spit, baring my teeth.

She definitely doesn't expect that, her frame positively shrinking as I turn towards her, but her momentary shock is quickly replaced by determination.

"Sadie, no-"

She shrugs off the arm of one of the women behind her, standing straight, eyes focused solely on mine as her mouth sets. Brave.

Dumb.

Sadie, if that's her name, thrusts the object from earlier forwards, presenting it to me.

"You have to do what I say, right," She pants, and I glare at the only thing that controls everything I do.

The moment she shoves the ring onto her finger, it changes everything. My fate is temporarily sealed, and the rings glows, the writing engraved across its sides burning bright, branding her finger and my own.

She collapses, a low, keening sound escaping her lips as she does, clutching her hand. It starts before I can stop it, and the sick feeling of the loss of control, the loss of free will crawls across my skin as muscles involuntarily clamp down on bone.

Breathing hard, the shimmer crosses over my vision and Sadie is hauled up by the others.

"What have you done? The sisters, the others will be furious! You've wasted-"

Sadie shakes her head, pushing away from them before pointing at Dean, the man in front. His eyes widen in response, mouth falling open.

"Kill him."

This time the command is succinct, absolute. I turn away from her, eyeing the one who will die as a haze of red descends through my thoughts, coating them in the urge to kill, to maim.

"Kill them all."

The outcome is set as I focus on the one man, ignoring her second command - I can practically feel death purring over my shoulder.

"Time to go, Cas," Dean grunts, and the other man behind him nods.

I open my mouth, eyes narrowed, claws itching to slice as the dark haired man places a hand on the two other guys shoulders.

They disappear.

Poof.

Gone.

The momentary confusion is distracting enough that I barley have time to catch their scents, but I breathe in greedily, locking the distinct smells into memory.

"No! You- I said- You have to kill them! I ordered you to do it, do it now," Sadie hisses, and God, her voice is annoying.

I roll my neck, flexing my jaw.

Now that the drama is over, I finally acknowledge where the hell I am, and from what I can tell I'm in some underground crypt. The men must've teleported somewhere up above, which is stating the obvious, but I'm still not exactly sure how in the hell they managed to do that.

I hop down from the altar, some weird stone pillar that's covered in so much dust and dirt that I sure as hell don't want to know what entombed me here.

Knowing the previous owner of the ring, the spell encased me in stone, which is why I'm probably stowed away here. And it also explains why my mouth is dry as fuck.

"Are you – Hell, are you even listening?"

I exhale through my nose, closing my eyes for a moment. Although she now controls me, it doesn't mean that I have to like her.

"They will die," I say. She stumbles back, mouth flopping open as I turn to face her, jaw tight.

"When?"

"Whenever I get around to doing it."

She doesn't like that, oh no, she really doesn't. Her friends react too, anger contorting their features.

"We control you," the one who grabbed Sadie's arm earlier snarls, and she too is bleeding, a gash across her forehead that's running quite freely. I watch the blood trail, "You have to do what we say."

I incline my head, "True."

"So, despite Sadie wasting our first command, you have to do it."

I nod, eyes meeting her own. They're dilated, her fear palpable, "Yes, but you did not specify when."

"Immediately," Sadie hisses, "Kill them. Do it now!"

I smile, ducking my head, "Oh, sweetheart," I tut, "Looks like you didn't read the instruction manual. One command at a time, and the specifics have to be said 'immediately'," I mimic, rolling my eyes.

"Well…" Sadie looks absolutely distraught, and I love it, "When will you do it?"

Rather than drag this out, I level my gaze on her. Her eyes are pitiful, so full of tears; they're red and blotchy, the colour emphasising the grey tones, "Soon. Very soon. I need information first to track them," I walk over to the spot they were standing, not surprised to find no trace of their presence, "Considering they vanished into thin air."

Mollified, the two outspoken ones nod, although they look far from happy.

"I can assure you," I say, turning to them.

They straighten in response.

"Dean Winchester will die."


	2. Chapter 1: Change

**First chapter!**

 **I hope you guys liked the prologue! I've tried to ensure the following piece is grammatically correct but guys there's only so many times you can read something before it makes no difference, so if you see any errors or issues let me know.**

 **Went a bit overboard with the length of this chapter, they all won't be as long as this I believe, I'm still working with the structure.**

 **Let me know if it's worth continuing though! I'll probably keep writing it anyway, but it's nice to know if people are enjoying it or not :D!**

 **It's very slow moving right now, but trust me we will be seeing the guys very very soon and the story will pick up! We just have to hash out the background and everything first! There's a bit of a dangerous scene below, so hopefully that keeps everyone interested.**

 **Let you get to know the key players here :)!**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

1: Change

Everything is different.

So much has changed in such a short amount of time, so many things are almost unrecognisable. The streets are filled with people, all in some sort of rush when the streets used to be empty, and the buildings look like they can withstand anything.

It's disconcerting to walk these streets. Too many new sights and smells distract me at every opportunity, and every time I'm outside I have to remind myself to stay focused.

After the events at the crypt or tomb, whatever that place was, the witches quickly ushered me to their hideout on the outskirts of Missouri. In the midst of packing, their fellow sisters dropped everything as soon as I came into view, and those present at the crypt wasted no time in parading me around like some kind of prized dog. They gushed over the events, relaying everything to those who weren't there, but the room fell silent when one of the witches - Agatha I believe - revealed the first command Sadie had uttered as soon as she activated the ring.

"What were you thinking?!" was the general gist of how the conversation went.

"Such a stupid misuse of power, you stupid girl," hissed an older woman.

But Sadie quickly stepped up to defend herself, stating that these Winchesters were already a huge threat to their cause – whatever that cause may be – and by getting rid of them they solve a big problem, one that they can no longer ignore.

"It's only beneficial, think about it; they've already found this place, they've killed two of our own. Killing them will only help us in the long run."

After a few arguments which I definitely did not pay attention to, they accepted Sadie's story and everyone went back to packing their things, all in a rush to move before the Winchesters returned to off them again. It was honestly amusing, a little surprising too. If the Winchesters could send this group into such a panic, they could potentially be powerful targets - maybe the kill won't be easy after all.

The new hideout is still in Missouri, and after they asked me to ensure the place was safe from anything that could be a threat, they settled in there within a matter of days. During this time I decided to explore the nearby town, do a bit of travelling. I feel like I deserve a little me time considering I've spent the last one hundred years or so imprisoned.

I don't remember much from that time, but I could definitely pick up a lot of conversation that occurred around me, which is the only reason I could give to Agatha as to why I spoke with such a familiar dialect. I was entombed, but I was aware, in some subconscious way, and now that I'm out all I feel is anger. I've missed so much. Every time this happens I despise waking up again.

It took three days before the witches realised they could summon me, but I doubt they'll be doing that very often. When I appeared before them, albeit a little confused as to why I suddenly manifested in some dark, damp basement when a second ago I was traipsing through the mall, Sadie collapsed. Blood poured out of every orifice, and I merely watched on as they floundered to stop the bleeding.

It's unfortunate that Sadie's death would not reset the ring, however, but she lived regardless.

Now that we're approaching a week since my awakening, the witches have been getting more and more annoyed about the lack of dead Winchesters, and the inability to nullify the command to kill them. Their summoning only reiterated that, after they managed to staunch the bleeding.

What can I say, I'm not rushing.

Killing Dean will only reset the ring, allowing them to utter another command once the necessary requirements have been fulfilled again, and I imagine this one will be much more thought out. I despise witches, and helping them is already making my skin crawl.

Even Sadie's voice sets my teeth on edge.

My new phone buzzes, and I glance at the caller ID.

Speak of the devil.

I got the device after pickpocketing a few unlucky guys outside of a phone shop - I would have settled on stealing from just one of them but the best phones are more expensive, and I'm shallow like that. The guy in the shop gave me a crash course in all things technology, and here I am, a fully-fledged member of the 21st century.

"What?" I say, answering.

Her voice is shrill as she replies, "Where the hell are you?"

I turn slowly, taking in the coffee shops and small tech stores around me, "Around."

"Well get back to the house now, we have a few job for you."

She ends the call and I refrain from outright throwing the phone down the street.

Way too ruin my me time.

* * *

Within minutes of my arrival Sadie began her rant, pacing back and forth as I ignored her, and I tried to listen, I really did, but her voice is something else, so I kicked up my feet and played on my new phone instead.

There's so many games on these things, it's unreal. A zombie one is definitely my favourite right now and it's beyond addictive.

I curse as I die again, the little death tone whistling out of the speakers as the zombies gurgle.

"Are you even listening?" Sadie huffs, pushing back the nest of hair on her head.

I look up, not even pausing the game, "Uh, no."

She stalks forward, pressing both palms into the table. The limited light source highlights the dark bags beneath her eyes.

"You look like shit," I say, and she scowls, "Maybe take a day off, go to a spa."

"Shut up," she hisses, and I raise a brow, "I wouldn't be this stressed out if you would just kill the Winchesters already, or at least harm them in some way. Do you know how many times I've had to listen to the same rant about how my command is dumb?"

I don't reply, and she groans.

"Why haven't you killed them already?"

"All great things take time," I hum, twisting to the right but the zombie manages to capture me anyway. Exhaling, I glare up at the ceiling. My stress levels are almost on par with Sadie's because of this fucking game.

"Do you even know where they are?"

I shrug, "No."

"No?! Have you even tried looking for them?"

"No."

I think she may genuinely suffer from an aneurysm, or a burst blood vessel at the very least. Her face is becoming darker each time I talk.

"You have to do it, and I know you have to. I know I didn't say when but surely there's an automatic schedule this thing has to follow."

I shrug, "Sure."

"Just get it done… Soon," she pulls out a stack of folders from her desk, spreading them out before her, "These are the requests we've had from other witches in our coven - small favours or errands."

I spare them a glance before returning to my game.

"They're not particularly important, but we want them doing. Agatha is waiting for you in the house somewhere so go see her before you leave. She has your first task. After you've done that, start on these."

"So what happened to the whole 'the Winchesters must die' spiel? I thought that _they_ were your priority," I say, standing.

"Oh they are," she snaps, "But you didn't honestly think we'd let you wander around doing whatever the hell it is you do in your free time forever, did you? We know the curse lets us ask for little things too, small requests if we make the sacrifices."

Fuck.

Great.

"So, go see her before you leave. And we still fully expect you to spend the rest of your time on finding and killing the Winchesters."

I fold my arms, scowling but I nod, "Whatever you say, boss."

She's nearly pulling her hair out but with a string of bitter curses she walks away, and I sigh. So now not only do they know how to summon me, but they know that they can also force me to do their other little jobs too.

I make my way out of their house, a three story structure that's become a middle aged headquarters of sorts. A few witches mill around the area, eyeing me with open curiosity and I barely manage to avoid them, lip raised almost permanently in disgust. One particularly old witch glares at me as I pass through their weird little lobby, and as I open the front door I flip her off, earning a scowl.

Agatha is waiting outside, like she could sense that I was not going to 'see her' before I left again, and I refrain from rolling my eyes as I jog down the steps, hands in my pockets. She raises a greying brow as I approach her, a folder tucked neatly underneath one arm which she pulls out as I near.

"Didn't think I'd know you'd just flounce off without stopping by first, huh?"

I purse my lips, shrugging, "Well, that's just me, totally predictable."

She hums, unimpressed, "I have your new identity details here, alongside a month's stay at the motel down in Kansas," she moves to hand me the documents but snatches them away as I reach for them, "I expect the motel to be spotless and damage free throughout your stay, we're not losing our deposit."

I scowl, snatching the documents from her and inspecting them. A new driver's licence with my name, Evelyn, alongside a fake last name that takes me aback.

"What's with the last name?"

Agatha pauses, "Well, we knew your name was Evelyn, or Eve," she amends after I raise a brow, "But none of the literature we have on you includes your last name, so we had to make one up."

I nod, biting my lip, "Yeah, but why Smith?"

She shrugs, "It came to mind."

Rather than pester her further, I tuck the new documents away in my jacket, "Well if that's everything…"

She shakes her head, "No, no, we have a few more things we'd like you to do, before you disappear again."

Damnit. I fold my arms, sighing.

"It should be easy for you, considering your uh, skillset," she licks her lips, pausing, "we just need one of our own escorting to her cabin in the woods."

"Why can't you do it?" I say, cocking my head to the side, "Considering you're all bitching about the Winchesters, I would've thought that would be top priority."

"It is. But the old bat wants to go to a cabin that is in the middle of nowhere, with a wendigo prowling around."

"What the fuck is a wendigo?"

She blinks, "You don't know?"

When I don't reply she continues.

"Wendigo's are human's gone rogue, cannibals that turned into monsters."

"Sounds fake," I say, but she shakes her head.

"Absolutely not, the wendigo's are some of the most skilled hunters in the world, faster than the eye can see."

I finally nod, "Right, which is why you won't take what's-her-face to the cabin yourselves, eh? Your coven scared or something?"

Agatha nods slowly, displeasure clear across her features, "We know what we can do, and kill a wendigo is not possible, not without some serious dedication. It only hunts every few years or so, but we would like it to be gone before we allow Martha to return to the woods."

"Okay," I say, "Tell me where the cabin is and I'll try to do something about it."

She pokes me in the side, right where the folder is sitting in my jacket, and when I glare at her she quickly retracts the offending digit.

"All in the folders," she says quickly, "We want it done by the end of this week."

"Aye aye, captain," I grin, sarcasm dripping through my voice and she rolls her eyes before passing me, heading back into the house.

"Do not upset the sisters, Eve, they will be very displeased if you come back with disappointing news."

Ominous, this time I roll my eyes.

I hail a cab down, pulling out the folders once again when I'm comfortably in the back seat.

Travelling in America is a hell of a lot different to travelling in England, where I'm originally from. You travel thirty miles in England and you're in a completely different city, you travel thirty miles in America and you may just reach another gas station for the same town. It's a definite reminder of the differences between the two countries, but I can't say that I miss home. Far from it

It's costing a fortune taking a cab everywhere, but with this new drivers licence hopefully I can learn to drive soon.

It doesn't look too hard, the driver of the taxi cab seems to be handling it with ease.

I chew my lip as I read through the pages Agatha gave me, internally groaning as I progress. So now they want me to play hunter, be one of those things that Dean and Sam are.

Fantastic. Another distraction from my procrastination.

* * *

"Why do I have to bring her with me again?"

"Because she insisted, she doesn't want anyone near the place without her being there also."

I eye the older woman beside me – she looks like she's about to keel over any minute now, and at four and a half feet tall she's gonna get killed before I even notice she's gone.

"But surely she can wait a few more days, at least until I get rid of the wendigo. I know I have to escort her," I continue, "But even you know this entire thing is dumb."

"Like I said, she doesn't want anyone else at the cabin whilst she's not there to supervise."

"What kind of kinky shit does she have there? She won't die on me half way there, right?"

The slap on the back of the head is a surprise, and I yank the phone away, glaring at the old woman who glares right on back. It's the same one from the lobby, and her beady gaze holds my own before she looks away, satisfied.

There's a sigh on the other side of the phone, and I can almost see the scowl on Agatha's face.

"Just get her there in one piece, alright? Kill the Wendigo, then come back. Leave her there."

Someone's eager to get rid of their great-great-great grandmother. I end the call, turning to face the older woman, Martha, I think her name is. She stares resolutely ahead, mouth set in a flat line.

"Come on, then. Try not to die on me, please," I pause, "Really."

She doesn't reply and I take that as agreement, so I lead the way from the edge of the forest, down the well beaten path. All types of animals make their presences known, calling out to one another, and it fills the silence as we walk.

Her steps are quiet behind mine, and every so often I have to check behind me to make sure she's still following. Each time her heavily lined face meets my own with an awareness that's altogether too creepy, and I can feel her eyes on the back of my head whenever I turn back around.

If looks could kill.

The trail thins out the further in we go, just wide enough to let a small car through, and I eye the road ahead.

She's definitely slowing me down, but the old witch is determined to come with, stating it's her house and her belongings and no ancient devil child will ruin the sanctity of her home.

Whatever. If she dies it's not my problem. Thankfully she doesn't try to make conversation, and I can ignore her company easily enough.

The woods are pretty, to say the least. Incredibly green, vibrant with life.

Which is why I pause when we're forty five minutes into the journey. There's a noticeable change in the air, and I eye the treetops. Light slants through the canopy, leaves occasionally falling to the ground, and the distant drips of recent rainfall are the only sounds that penetrate the silence.

Nothing else does. No animals, nothing. Complete and utter silence.

Considering the place was alive only a few minutes ago, the lack of sound is unsettling.

Weird.

"You hear that?" I say, turning towards the old witch.

She stares at me for a few seconds before answering, as if I'm dumb for asking, "No."

There's a crunch to my right, and I immediately whirl towards it, backing away with Martha behind me. I can hear two solid thumps, heartbeats that become clearer as the crunches come closer and closer.

Two wendigo's?

I hope not, I only have enough lighter fluid for the one.

A bustle of activity to my left, and a voice that sounds incredibly familiar, "Help!"

Help?

It's a woman's voice, and I stand straighter, eyeing the direction it came from. Dense green shrubbery greets my eyes, but a tell-tale shimmer of movement has me stiffening.

The shift comes on in an instant. The power inside me awakens, furling outwards from the centre of my chest, reaching the tips of my fingers and the darkness consumes my hands, claws coming out to play. My vision sharpens, the effects of the energy coursing through my body, and I know that if I look into a mirror right now my eyes would be black, the surrounding skin black too, as dark as night, the tattoo like markings bleeding like ivy from my eyes down my cheeks.

It's a menacing look, and I glare at the offending foliage, canines lengthening.

"Stay here," I say, low enough for her ears only to catch.

There's three heartbeats now, and it's confusing. As far as I'm aware Agatha definitely only said there was one wendigo, and one of the heartbeats is definitely considerably slower than the other two. The other two seem human, the rhythm familiar, and I cock my head to the side as I begin to move steadily around the small clearing we've found ourselves in.

Leaving the woman behind, I fully expect whatever it is to come and pounce on her the very moment I step away, and I walk towards the disturbed trees slowly.

The smell is something else, like rotting meat that's dried out in the sun, and I latch onto it as I move closer. It's like its moving parallel to me, but I can't hear any footsteps.

This thing really is a good hunter, after all.

A gasp is the only notice I have, the old woman's intake of breath disturbing the serenity of the silence and I turn.

A clawed hand wraps around her shoulder, and it is damn fast, but I'm faster.

I teleport instantly, dissolving into a cloud of darkness and appearing behind the wendigo not even a second later, and I wrap a hand around its leathery neck.

The thing screeches as I launch it into one of the surrounding trees, its body meeting the trunk with a meaty thud. Bones crack, definitely broken, and it delays the creature long enough for me to approach it and take it in.

"God, you're one ugly looking motherfucker," I breathe. Its skin is all leather, dried and aged beyond comprehension. Tufts of hair stick out in odd places, and rags hang from its bony, greying frame. It watches me with red eyes, its mouth a mottled mess of teeth and it swipes at me as soon as I'm within range.

I grasp the limb, tutting, and with a flick of the wrist I snap its forearm.

The wendigo howls, but I put a stop to it quickly, once again grabbing it by the neck. I pull it up, pressing it deeper into the tree. The bark groans in response, wood chips fluttering down to the floor.

Clawed hands rake at my wrist desperately, splitting the skin and blood flows freely, stinging ever so slightly, but I pay it no mind, instead reaching for the lighter fluid canister in my back pocket.

I twist the cap off with my teeth before pouring the liquid onto the wendigo, throwing the canister to the side. The animalistic eyes of the creature meet my own, frantic almost now, as its own death becomes a reality. It struggles, it really does, trying to escape my grasp, but it's pointless.

"Bye bye," I say, flicking open a cheap lighter.

The wendigo erupts in flames, an inhuman screech escaping it and I step back, wrinkling my nose as the rotting meat stench intensifies. Massaging my wrist, I flex my fingers a few times as the cuts heal, wisps of dark smoke rising from the damaged tissue as the cuts disappear one by one.

The fucker got me good, I can even see a bit of bone, but it quickly knits back together and I turn towards Martha, wiping my blood stained hands on my jeans.

"Okay," I breathe, listening out for the other two heartbeats. They're faint now, almost indecipherable. Probably some actual human hunters wandering a little too far from the trail. "Now that that's sorted out, you should be good now," I say.

She doesn't reply, and I finally focus on her. The once beady eyes are now alert, wide as they take me in, and she takes a step back when I move forwards, mouth working to say something.

I look up, sighing, "Listen, lady, I've done what they wanted me to do. Can I go now?"

She nods mutely, and I bow, smiling before pulling a 180 and marching my arse right out of those woods. I don't even care if she makes it to the cabin, the wendigo is gone, my job is done, and I dial Agatha's number. She answers in two rings.

"Hello?"

"The wendigo is dead."

There's a pause, and I clamber over a fallen log. A shortcut, now that wrinkles isn't following me anymore.

"Already?"

"Yes," I say, "Now, if that's everything-"

"Wait!"

I pull the phone away, mentally counting down from ten, "What?"

"You know we have a few more jobs for you, so come back to the house."

"Don't you think your jobs are a misuse of my time?" I say.

Another pause, this one lasts much longer and I'm prepared to put the phone down before her voice breaks the silence.

"We decide what aspects of your time are most valuable. Don't forget that. We also have some information on the Winchesters whereabouts."

The click of the phone being put down signals the end of that delightful conversation, and for a moment I stop. The witches are becoming far too confident, thinking they can dismiss me as easily as that.

I'm starting to believe they do not know what they're doing, truly. They have no idea what they've revived. And I'm all too happy to show them.


	3. Chapter 2: First Encounters

**Next chapter!**

 **I've been seriously busy with essays this week, so although I had this chapter already written out, I didn't change it much from the first draft, so if the story doesnt flow or sound grammatically correct, let me know! I have tried to make sure it's edited though.**

 **Hopefully you're still interested, we do see Dean and Sam in this chapter! And they will be appearing quite heavily from now on, in case any of you reading were worried.**

 **Enjoy :)!**

2: First Encounters

I eye the diner from across the street, the window obscuring the view ever so slightly. There they sit, chowing down as they chat to one another.

The diner itself is not very busy, hence why I'm not sat in there with them. It would be too easy for them to spot me. But the library across the street offers a perfect vantage point, and I also have access to a computer which is always a bonus.

Learning how to navigate computers is something else entirely, my phone pales in comparison to it. But it offers a welcome distraction. The guys have been sat in the diner now for an hour, and it's been an incredibly boring experience, like being forced to watch a terrible movie.

Sadie provided a brief summary of their location, of which they only managed to ascertain because of one of their sisters. She just so happened to be visiting the town the guys seem to frequent, suggesting that they may live in this area of Kansas. Or maybe they just like the place, I don't know.

Still, she sent me here immediately, stating that the other jobs could wait.

So here I sit, watching them like some creepy stalker.

When they finally stand I sigh in relief, pushing away from the desk. They're both dressed formally like they're about to attend some kind of funeral or something, and as they leave they bypass the black impala they arrived here in, instead choosing to walk down the populated street. I follow shortly afterwards, pulling my hood up and shoving my hands into my pockets. Not because I want to appear inconspicuous, but because the air has a bit of a bite to it, and as much as I adore the cold, I'm still not operating on full power.

It always happens like this. Something drags me out of the depths of imprisonment, forcing me into the world again, and my body takes a few weeks to catch up. The little stunt I pulled with the wendigo took more out of me than I thought it would, and I was stupid to assume I could use all of my abilities immediately without any repercussions.

Different smells assault my senses as I follow them, passing restaurants and coffee shops. They almost mask the scent of the guys, but the effects of the curse are ensuring that I don't lose track of them. Dean's scent is like the outside on a winter's night, fresh and clean. I focus solely on it, keeping my head low.

When they veer into a wide alley I stop, brow furrowed. A huff from an indignant old lady draws my attention away as the woman steps around me, glaring as she goes, and I scowl back before turning back to the alley. Why would they go down there? The street itself is open, and not too far ahead is a turn that would take them the same direction, unless they want to go dumpster diving in their cheap suits.

It's far too suspicious, and I glance around quickly. A smaller alley on the opposite side of the building hosts a degree of walkways that climb up the side of the apartment building, fire escapes that look rusty even from here. But if I can climb up, I can get a bird's eye view on the two.

Mind made up, I approach the ladder. It's higher up than I anticipated but after a quick look around confirms that I am alone, I jump up to it easily, grasping the scratchy metal and pulling myself up. The breeze is harsher the further up I go, and I clamber onto the flat roof, not ashamed to admit that I'm a little out of breath.

I look over the opposite edge, and my suspicions are confirmed. They're there alright, waiting for me I suppose.

An ambush.

Dean stands on one side, his brother on the other, and they both peer past the dumpsters they're using as cover, waiting.

I underestimated them. They pay far more attention to their surroundings than I first thought, and I make a mental note of it.

After a few minutes they shrug at one another before moving on, and I stick to the rooftops, following them quietly. It helps that the roofs are quite close together and consistently flat.

When the buildings run out I climb down another fire escape, emerging from another alley as they cross the road towards a park. I traipse behind them (this time much further back), eyes focused solely on the back of Dean's head. They both seem confident, their strides sure and quick, and I raise a brow as we come onto the newest scene.

Yellow tape borders a grassy area, surrounded by a few trees. I quickly step out of sight, leaning against one of the trees as I watch them flash – definitely fake – badges to the surrounding officers, before they are ushered into the crime scene. How dumb do the police have to be to not realise the two are definitely not part of any law enforcement service?

The smell of old blood is strong here and I grimace as it's carried through the breeze, and I realise a few moments later what they're doing. They're hunters, duh.

So they're investigating, albeit a little sloppily.

"Excuse me, Miss. Can I help you?"

I jump, heart pounding. An officer appears at my side, his deep voice penetrating my focus and I scowl.

"This area is now under federal investigation," he continues when I don't reply, rubbing a hand across his chin, "So I need to ask that you move on, please - if it isn't too much bother."

When he smiles his eyes crinkle, as if to soften the blow that he's essentially telling me to fuck off, and I nod, stepping away. He ducks his head before moving onwards, and I move back into position as he waddles out of sight.

I curse when I take in the crime scene again. The Winchesters are nowhere to be seen.

Great, fantastic. The guy distracts me for a few seconds and they manage to disappear in that time frame.

Which obviously means they've gotten what they wanted from here.

I need to find out what happened, so I push away from the tree and chase after the tubby policeman. He turns as I approach, brows rising and I run a hand through my hair, hoping that I look a little frazzled.

"Sorry, I just… I think I know who it was."

The officer stands straighter, "Who? The victim?"

So there's only one victim.

"Yeah, I er… I haven't heard from a friend since last night," when he nods I continue, "And they were running through here at the time."

He grimaces, hand tracing his mouth, "Right, okay honey. It may be that your… friend was involved in an accident-"

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?" I say a little breathlessly, leaning forwards ever so slightly. I sincerely hope that I'm pulling off the puppy dog eyes efficiently enough, but it also helps that my top underneath my jacket is pretty low cut, and his eyes flicker from my face to my chest as he wets his lips. Wow. Talk about subtlety.

"Horrendous thing, really, I shouldn't really discuss this without getting a formal witness statement from you, or document this… down."

I lick my lips, face falling, "But if he is dead - my friend that is, I don't think I could bare not knowing… all I need is closure you know, just to know what killed him."

The officer hesitates, but when his pupils dilate further as I pull on a strand of hair I know I've got him.

"Okay honey, but you'll need to come to the station with me afterwards, okay? Just to write down everything you've said."

I nod emphatically, knowing full well that I most definitely won't be and he sighs.

"Your friend, he was attacked last night, as far as we know. Quite a gruesome attack, his heart was ripped clean from his chest-" his eyes flicker to mine, "You wouldn't know about any enemies that he had, would ya?"

I shake my head, "No, not at all. He was the kindest soul I know," I take a deep breath, eyes burning, "Knew. If it is him."

The officer harrumphs, "Well, we still haven't ruled out an animal attack yet, but whatever it was, it was strong, and it only took the heart. Either an animal with some serious claws did it or someone has some pretty inventive tools."

I reach into my pocket, nodding the entire time before setting off my ring tone.

I duck my head apologetically, pulling out my phone and pretending to answer. His brows drop down as I back away, "Sorry, I've really gotta take this, can I get back to you? I'll be around the corner, I promise I won't be longer than five minutes."

He nods, hands going to his belt and I head back the way I came, putting my phone away as soon as I'm out of sight.

Something non-human definitely tore that guy a new one. If it ripped his heart out it would have to be strong. I'm not too savvy with the lore of monsters, but even I know that's odd for human standards.

I need to find the brothers again, and maybe this time I won't let them out of my sight.

* * *

"Listen, as soon as we're finished with the werewolf we need to go back to the bunker, Dean. We're way too exposed right now, the witches have some kind of… ancient assassin on us and-"

"Sammy, soon as we gank this mother I'm all for going back, but this thing is tearing up the town and it's way too close to home."

The taller one, Sammy, looks away, eyes flickering to the ceiling briefly before resting on his brother, "I know, I know, and I want to kill it too, but we need to do it-"

"Quickly, I get it," Dean cuts in, before raising his gun, "So let's get on with it. There's pie in the fridge at home."

Sam snorts but doesn't reply, mimicking his brothers stance as they enter the abandoned warehouse. I clamber through a broken window, perching on the window sill as I watch the scene unfold. This high up, I've got a good view of the place and I can just make out the figure of the werewolf in question, currently chowing down on another victim. The smell of blood is strong, a coppery layer that reaches even the upper sections of the warehouse. The wet dog smell accompanies it, and I wrinkle my nose as the brothers' press onwards.

I found the impala shortly after their little disappearing act, and tailed it over here. The guys waited until night, as this seems to be the place the thing frequents.

Moonlight slants through the other few broken windows, highlighting the smashed glass that litters the floor, and of course, Dean steps onto one particularly glass encrusted section, causing a resounding crunch to bounce off of the warehouse walls.

The werewolf stiffens before rising.

I wonder if the boys are aware of the three other werewolves in the building, too.

A pack, really. I was surprised to find them, too. Despite the dog like tendencies, werewolves don't usually seek out others to play with, not unless they're born that way and know of their condition. Well, at least I'm not aware of that ever happening. Maybe things have changed.

Either way, I can't help but chuckle as the three other werewolves turn, having heard the sound as well, and begin to surround the boys from behind. They growl low in their throats, the heavy thrum carrying across the building.

It doesn't take long for the guys to notice, and Dean whirls on the ones behind him.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, gun flicking between them.

The wolves react instantly, lurching forwards with angry snarls as they attack as one. Claws slice easily into the flesh of the Winchesters, and the smell of their blood joins the fray.

Silver knives are whipped out quickly, slashing the werewolves and blood sprays in all directions.

It's amazing, watching the Winchesters at work. I admire them a little, not that I'd ever admit it out loud.

I stretch out, legs dangling over the fifty foot drop as Dean wraps an arm around one of their necks, stabbing them right where it matters. The thing drops dead, but Sam is pinned by two of them, his knife knocked aside.

Dean notices, which is probably his downfall. He's quick to stab one of them in the heart, but the other reacts quickly, slamming Sam's head into the concrete floor. The crack resounds through the building and I wince. Damn. That's got to hurt.

Sam's definitely out for the count physically, groaning as his eyes flutter, struggling to remain conscious.

Claws slice into Dean's cheek, his arm, his abs, his chest, but he counters each one with a slash of his knife, grunting as the werewolf hisses in return.

He's too focused on the one in front of him, because as soon as he stabs the third one in the heart, the fourth forgotten one grasps him by the back of the neck and slams him so hard into the concrete that I cringe.

The werewolf clambers on top of him, claws out as he just goes to town on Dean, who can only slash blindly in response. Dean's gasping, the wind knocked out of him, and as his knife is also knocked aside I straighten.

No way.

He's not going to die now, is he? To a werewolf?

Blood flows like a river out of the cuts on his body, splashed and pooling around him as the werewolf stands, dragging Dean up with him with a clawed hand wrapped tightly around his throat.

Dean gasps, hand wrapped around the arm crushing his neck.

Oh hell no.

No way is some dog stealing my eventual kill. If Dean dies, the ring resets, and my temporary, limited freedom is gone. The witches will issue another command once they've performed the necessary sacrifice, this time one that's much more thought out, and I'll be forced to obey them. I'd rather die than obey for longer than what is absolutely necessary.

Mind made up, I push off of the ledge, dropping quickly as air rushes past me, hair billowing before I land with a thud.

The werewolf stiffens, head rising instantly but it's too late.

Dissipating, I coalesce behind the wolf, wispy dark tendrils rising around my frame. My muscles quiver in response, weakness thrumming through my limbs but I ignore it. Canines lengthening, I smile as the wolf twists to face me, its own teeth bared too.

I snap its neck, the movement fast and absolute, the sound of his neck breaking like music to my ears. It falls, crumbling to the floor and Dean blinks through swollen eyes, face dripping with blood.

I sigh, stepping over the body before picking up one of their knives. They probably want this to be done the proper way, and I pull the werewolf up, its head lolling awkwardly to the side. A quick stab to the heart and it's done, and I let the body drop.

"What the hell?" Sammy is the first one to speak, rising up on one elbow as he rubs the back of his head.

Sighing, I glare up at the ceiling before looking at both of them in turn, "Really?"

Both of their mouths flop open, but no sounds come out. They don't know what to say, obviously.

"Here I was, thinking that these Winchesters were the bees knees, I should be a little wary of them, at least. But you were just about to be dropped by a fucking werewolf," I stop, dropping the knife in front of Dean, "I mean, come on guys. Really?"

Dean shakes his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood, "Hey… They – there was more of them than we thought."

I shrug, lip raised, "So?" moving towards Dean, I crouch to his position - still kneeling from his altercation with the wolf - and I tap him on the cheek, grinning when he winces, "I must say, I'm disappointed. Maybe killing you won't be as fun, after all."

Using the same hand, I curl it around his neck, feeling the pulse kick up a notch and I watch as blood dribbles over my fingers. A scuffle behind me is evidence enough that Sam is trying to move, trying to help his brother.

But I'm not going to kill Dean now, nope.

Meeting his eyes, I tighten my hand just a little, watching the green orbs flash in response.

"You're lucky that I have a busy schedule today, Winchester," I say softly, pulling away.

I grin, fluttering my fingers goodbye before walking away, and they're too preoccupied with their injuries to follow. It would be dumb of them to, anyway.

Sadie is not gonna like this.


	4. Chapter 3: Old Memories

**Hi again!**

 **Sorry for these little notes, but I like to address a few things before the chapter starts :)**

 **Anyway, the next chapter may be a little confusing, but I promise you the past is revealed later on in the story, and this will make a bit more sense then.**

 **Dean and Sam play a roll in this, like I said, and from here on out they will appear a lot more for a lot longer.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :)!**

3: Old Memories

What Sadie doesn't know won't hurt her, so instead of answering her many calls and texts I ignore her like the plague. If I do answer, the calls are short and quick, and they dance around the many questions she throws my way.

I doubt she's going to love hearing about the fact that I essentially saved the Winchesters last week.

When I first feel the inklings of a summoning, however, I dial her number so fast I'm sure I've permanently damaged the touch screen on my phone.

"What?" I snap.

"Someone's touchy today," she mutters, and I roll my eyes.

"Well, stop trying to summon me. I know exactly when you're doing it."

"We wouldn't try to summon you if you would just answer our calls," she snaps back, "It's been a good four days since we last spoke to you, and you still won't tell us everything there is to know about your encounter with the Winchesters and the werewolves."

I sigh, closing my eyes for just a few seconds. The alley wall feels a little damp as I lean against it, and I pull away a moment later. The back entrance to the bar swings open as I do so, music blaring out of the cheap speakers as a drunk guy stumbles out, throwing up moments later a few feet away from me. I step away, lip raised.

This is how I've been spending my time, passing through bars, wasting my ill-gotten gains.

"I've told you," I finally say, "There's nothing more to say. Sam and Dean took care of the werewolves, I watched them do it. End of story."

"Werewolves - plural. So there were a couple of them?"

"Yes."

"That would have been good to know."

"Why?"

"No reason," she says, and I raise a brow, "Anyway, listen, we need you to come back here straight away. We've got a bit of a situation on our hands; another local coven is having a few disagreements with ours."

"Oh… Not making many friends there, are we huh?"

"Shut up, just make you way down here fast. We need you to take them out."

I laugh, "Oh, really? And how are you gonna get me to do that? As far as I'm concerned, you used up your one and only wish on Dean Winchester, Aladdin."

There's a hell of a lot of silence on the other side of the line, and it really warms my heart. Sadie likes to pretend that she's the one in control, and to some degree she is, but let's not lie to ourselves and believe for one second that she's got a fucking clue what she's doing. She can threaten me with sacrifices all she wants, those dead squirrels and rabbits won't cut it for a full blown execution of a human, never mind a full covens worth.

The curse is fuelled by those sacrifices, but it is most certainly not controlled by it. The sacrifices inflict a degree of pain if I refuse to obey, and more often than not it's easier to succumb to the sacrifice rather than ignore it, but that doesn't mean I can't ignore it. Sure, her one true command will slowly begin to take over, but that's something that I don't have to worry about for a few months now.

She has nothing on me, and she knows it.

"You may change your mind when you listen to what I have to say about them."

"Oh yeah?" I say distractedly, sarcasm dripping through my voice. The drunk guy from earlier sidles up to me, eyes bleary, his breath hot and heavy with liquor.

"You got any change for a cab, pretty lady?" he slurs, pressing closer. His hand goes for my waist, but I grab the offending limb quickly.

"Fuck off," I snap, tightening my hold. Bones grind in response and he groans, dropping to his knees.

"Okay, okay! Let go – please, please let me go!" he sobs, and I throw his hand away. He clutches his wrist as he stumbles to his feet, staggering out of view.

"You were saying," I say, returning to the call.

"Does the name, Algernon, ring a bell?"

It's like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown over me, sapping every bit of warmth out of my limbs. A sharp and succinct reminder of something that I thought would never come up again. Involuntarily I clench my hands, teeth grinding painfully as anger, red hot and blinding pulses through me, frothing at the mouth in response to the name.

It's only when Sadie's cough reminds me that she's still on the call, waiting for my response that I acknowledge her question.

"How do you know that name?"

There's a laugh and I bare my teeth, throat closing up something fierce. Sadie doesn't know what she's doing, walking this very thin line.

"Answer me," I hiss, voice rough as the dark energy that inhabits my body dirties the tone. God, I'm already losing it.

"Oh, this is glorious. I knew we would have you, I knew it. As soon as I found out what family this coven descends from, I knew you wouldn't be able to say no."

Rather than ask what exactly it is she knows about, I focus on the more important, pressing issues, "That's impossible, they're all dead."

"Apparently not," Sadie continues, her tone whimsical, "Looks like you didn't slaughter all of them, after all."

Well, that can easily be rectified.

I curse when the realisation sets in. She has got me, the bitch.

"Where are they?"

Sadie laughs - it almost sends me over the edge and I pull the phone away, jaw clenched hard before returning to the call.

"Sadie."

I don't know if it's my tone of voice or what, but she quickly shuts up, "I'll send their addresses to your phone, but they're in the next town over from us. They've been causing quite a stir, too, hexing a lot of the locals and what not. So I would get there quick, 'cos no doubt the Winchesters are on their way over there right now."

I end the call, tired of her voice.

It's far too quiet when I do, however, and the reality of the situation hits me hard. Only the muted music of the bar can be heard, alongside the occasional roar of laughter, but it's not enough to distract me from the tidal wave of emotions that threaten to swallow me whole.

I don't know what to do, so I just stand in the alley way, the bars light flickering every so often, illuminating the many potholes that litter the ground and the puddles that drown them. I just watch the light flash on and off, breathing slowly.

Memories threaten to pull me under, to force me into that pit of well-known self-loathing and hatred, a hole so deep that whenever I fall I struggle to climb out of it. I clench my hands, looking up as the first few drops of rainfall land around me.

The cool droplets are soothing as they begin to trickle down my face, and after a few seconds I sigh, muscles relaxing.

The anger can wait, I can use it later, when I truly need it.

How Sadie managed to find… how that lineage is even still alive, I will never know. But I do know that all I want to do now is go to them and rip them apart.

I pay my tab at the bar, walking out with a mood that's much sourer than it was before.

Sadie better get those details to me, fast.

* * *

The little cul-de-sac the coven calls home looks warm, cosy, inviting. Every bit the suburban utopia that graces the front covers of housing magazines, with attractive flower gardens in full bloom and lanterns that light up the exteriors of their highly maintained homes. Sprinklers water the green lawns, and I imagine they're on all year round. In the dark, the water positively sparkles.

It's a nice place, and I approach the circular street slowly, walking down the centre of the empty road. The whole area is full of witches, a coven that's been up to some serious voodoo. The town itself is scared shitless, they believe they're cursed or something, and the locals never bother to come down here according to Sadie. Not out of laziness, but out of fear, like they know whatever it is that's causing their bad luck lives down here.

Wards are the cause, probably.

This coven, they've done their fair share of murder and doled out a good amount of pain, and with every step I feel the weight of the past bearing down on me, an unbearable presence that only fuels the rage.

A woman, old and decrepit steps out onto the street, about thirty feet away from me. For someone who's so short and frail looking, she appears to be relatively at ease as she takes me in, resting both hands on a walking stick. She's probably the leader, and as she comes to a stop in the centre of the circular road, I stop too.

Her face is a mess of wrinkles and her eyes are a milky white, but they stare at me with such confidence that I suspect that even without her vision, she can still _see_ me.

"You are not welcome here," she finally says, her voice low, gravelly, and I smirk, hands finding my pockets, "Leave now, before any unnecessary harm has to occur."

I laugh, the sound harsh in the night air. It's a little cold out so when she exhales in response, the breath shaky, a small cloud temporarily obscures her face.

"Oh lady, all the harm that's about to 'occur' here is long overdue," I say, meeting her eyes again, "In fact, I'd say it's at least three hundred years overdue."

She shakes her head, wispy hair following the movement, "No, Evelyn. The past is the past. We are no part of him now. His blood may run through our veins, but his legacy is a stain to our name."

I raise a brow, "Is that right?" I step forwards, a thrill going through me as she backs up, "His legacy? His blood? You reek of it," I spit, and my eyes burn as the dark energy inside of me builds in response, my vision sharpening, "Still, even now, I can see him in you."

And I can. The same hooked nose, the same deep set brow, even offset by her feminine features.

Doors begin to open all around us; apparently the rest of the coven are going to show their faces, which makes my job easier because now I don't have to drag them out onto the streets later. They stand under their porch lights, arms folded.

I take them all in. Their fear radiates off of them in waves, the smell heavy and bitter as it invades my senses and I breathe it in, allowing the very thing that their ancestors facilitated to come forth fully, eyes darkening considerably.

The old woman shifts, a sharp intake of breath that pulls my attention back to her. And I know she sees the change, the way my eyes and face show my true inner nature.

"We have done nothing," she snaps, "Don't blame us for his mistakes."

"Oh, I'm blaming you, alright," I say, "And, to touch upon what you just said before we do start. Are your hands truly as _clean_ as you say they are?"

Her white eyes widen, and I know I have her there. She knows just how repugnant her coven's actions have been, and I'm more than happy to share the intimate details of their sins with the class. I'm pretty sure that all of those in attendance are the perpetrators of such acts.

"Susanne Warren. Housewife, mother, avid church goer," I say, slowly circling the street, "The epitome of what a good human being is. She's dead, because of one of your own," I point to the old woman, grinning when she frowns.

"Oliver Cartwright. Father of two, now a father of one," I stop, eyes narrowing as one of the men who was making his way closer stops, his eyes falling to the floor guiltily, "His son had a full ride scholarship to a top university of his choice. But now he's dead. Because of one of your own.

"Linda Bloom, a sweet old lady. She volunteered at the local animal shelter. Well. She did. Now she's dead, too, and her assets have been donated," I press a finger to my chin, "A lot of assets too, if I'm telling the truth. And with no children or family to claim it, and a will stating the money goes to her business partner, who I'm guessing lives here…"

"Enough," One of the other women shouts, hands clenched as she storms down her lawn, "Those people deserved it."

"Did they now?" I say, amused and she stops, breathing hard.

"Yes, they did. Susanne won the bake sale every year and-"

I laugh, holding a hand up, "Wait, so you're telling me that you killed this woman because of a fucking bake sale?"

It's the very moment that she realises her mistake that I smile, and her long face pales.

"And who killed Oliver's son?"

No response, and I fold my arms across my chest.

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you all right now."

The man from earlier, the guilty one is shoved forwards.

"And why did you do that? Why did you kill him?"

There's no answer, but I've heard enough, and so has the old woman, because she barely meets my eyes as I address her again.

Although the coven has moved on from England, they definitely have not abandoned their old ways. Each one of them has killed someone for something petty. The list of deaths caused by them is a mile long, spanning across decades.

I tut, "See… Your hands? They're soaked with blood. Which just makes what I'm about to do a hell of a lot easier."

Every step I take is like a crack of thunder, they all flinch with each one and my smile grows as I approach. A couple of the witches begin to react too, males and females alike moving closer as if to defend the old lady, but I pay them no mind. Their elevated heart rates betray their true intentions, and they won't do shit.

The old woman watches, barely having time to move before I'm towering over her, glaring down into those soulless eyes. Fear and outright hatred flicker across her face, the two emotions fighting for dominance.

"Don't do this."

I laugh, more of a scoff, really, "Why? Because you deserve to live? Are you afraid?" I flash my canines and she purses her lips, "Are you scared? Tell me, who are you?"

Her chin rises, stubborn pride forcing the words out, "I am his daughter. But the man was a monster, even I know that."

I cock my head to the side; I didn't even know he had a daughter, "Hmm, his daughter, huh? So that makes you seriously past your due date."

She shakes her head.

"What kind of messed up shit have you been doing to stay alive for this long, lady? I mean, I know we-" I stop, biting my cheek, " _They_ used to powerful, but whatever it is you're doing…" I shiver, "It's not doing you any favours, sweetheart."

She breathes out, and even her lungs sound old, deflated, like she's suffering from a cough that's lingered for far too long, "Spare us, end this now. Don't allow this to continue," The faint mark of blue irises flicker from side to side behind the milky white that's blinded her eyes and the colour reminds me of my own, which only serves to remind me of the past even further, "Don't let him haunt you forever, cousin."

I straighten, the darkness spilling onto my cheeks as my proverbial hackles rise, and I offer her one last smile, "No."

And I snap her neck.

Her body crumples to the floor with a thud, and I sigh, cracking the bones in my fingers as I flex them, claws conjured up by the dark energy that swirls into a frenzy.

There's a lot of shouting, a few even step out as it to confront me, but they stop when they meet my eyes, shrinking away.

And I lose control. It's like a dam bursting open, the anger leaks out of every one of my pores and it coats every movement with violence, and I just can't stop. Blood soaks my hands as I slice throats, break arms and snap bones. Tissue tears, and the screams barely register.

It's only when two very familiar faces come into view that I stop, and the invigorating scent of the outdoors penetrates the coppery smell of blood, Dean's smell. I'm still holding onto the arm of one of the men in the coven. Bodies litter the floor, at least a dozen of them and I realise that what felt like an eternity of satisfying blood shed to me must have only been a few minutes to them, if that.

The man whimpers as the Winchesters approach, their shotgun and knives raised, and I smile before snapping the guys arm, flipping him across the street. He slams into a vehicle not too far away, groaning hysterically.

A few others screech when his body thumps down next to them. They're all huddled together now, apparently aware of the fact that running is futile.

"Sam, Dean! What a pleasant surprise," I say, beaming. I wipe a speck of blood off of my cheek with my shoulder, but judging from their expressions I've only managed to smear it further, "What can I do for you?"

Sam's mouth opens and closes, his eyes focusing on the litter of bodies at my feet. Dean's eyes however - they never leave my own, and I smile lightly at him. In this light he looks pretty good, not that I didn't notice his good looks before. But now, I'm in some kind of weird state of angry euphoria.

"Cat got your tongue, huh, Sam?" I say, and Sam shakes his head.

"What is this? What's going on? Who are they to you?"

I shrug, slowly turning as I take them in, "Old acquaintances, nothing that concerns you two."

"Oh I'd beg to differ, sweet-cheeks," Dean says, shotgun levelled on me, "The bodies currently occupying the floor do, too."

"Help us!" One very brave, very stupid woman cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. She stumbles forwards and I watch calmly. The other witches watch, too, but they don't move. Because they know, the Winchesters are the _last_ people that will help them.

Sam glares at the woman, "Help you? We're not here to help you – you've been murdering innocent people. Taking their lives for your own vile, personal gains."

Her eyes widen, mouth working to say something, but her features tighten seconds later, "Hunters," she gasps, before her eyes fall on me, "Kill her!"

"Oh, we will," Dean says, his eyes focused solely on mine even as the woman crawls closer, "And after that, we'll kill the rest of you, too."

"Why?!"

"Because of the countless families and kids you've all killed, you dumb bitch," he barks, and I snort.

"But she's worse than us," She cries, but I'm bored of her attempt of cowardice now, and I step in, literally.

I pull the woman up by the back of the neck and Dean follows me with the shotgun the entire time. She screams, hands pawing at my own but I put a stop to that quickly, pulling her neck back just far enough to silence her. A quick twist of the wrist ends her life and I drop her to the floor, lip curled before I turn my attention back to the Winchesters.

"Like I said, "I say, "None of your concern. Now, why don't you both run along, before I make good on that little contract Sadie has on you."

Dean's smile is tight, "Nah, I think I'm gonna stay, thanks anyway though."

My smile mimics his own, but Sam interrupts my response.

"Wait, Dean," he says, lowering his hands, "Hold on a minute. Maybe we should go."

Dean's eyes flicker to his brother, "Are you crazy, Sammy?! She's straight up murdering these sons of bitches in the middle of the street and she just-"

"But isn't that what we came here to do, put a stop to them… albeit, a little bit more subtly."

I pull back, frowning. Okay, offence taken.

"You can't be serious?" Dean snaps, and Sam pulls him off to the side. I don't think they know that I can still her them, but I pretend to be the patient, ignorant villain anyway, grinning at the few members of the coven left. They whimper in response.

"Dean, think about it. She's just slaughtered practically the entire coven in seconds, and you heard what they were all saying before the fight started."

Dean nods, eyes going to the sky, "I get it, it's some old time beef - which is why we should stay," he stresses, "Find out what they know, if they _do_ have a past with her."

"And how are we gonna do that, huh? This coven was powerful, we know that. They've killed a lot of hunters before us, yet she took them on like they were nothing. It looks like whatever they did to her, it was something bad, and I doubt she's going to let us take a hostage back with us.

"Sadie asked for your death Dean," Sam continues when his brother shakes his head, sighing, "This 'Evelyn' won't hesitate, not when she's high off the kill already. I mean, just look at her face man, with the whole pitch black eyes and tribal skin tattooes."

Dean turns towards me and I wave, earning a scowl. To be fair, Sam is right. I'm really on a high right now, and the urge to carry out Sadie's command is becoming harder to ignore. It's how the curse works. The longer I try to ignore it, the more it consumes my thoughts until it's the only thing I can think about. Usually that takes a good few months, though, but with Dean's scent surrounding me, infiltrating my nose, I'm a little hungry for his death. Which is a bad thing for all of us.

Plus, if they even try to save one of them, I'll kill them both right now.

"Besides, now we have her name," Sam says, and I think that's what finally convinces Dean, as he ducks his head before relenting, a long weary sigh leaving his lips.

They both turn to me and I grin.

"You done?" I say.

"You're lucky," Dean growls, finger pointed at me and I wink in response, "Don't think this is over, _Evelyn_."

My gaze darkens at the use of my full name but I let it slide, and the two back away. They only look back once before disappearing from view, and I crack my neck.

The smell of blood is still heavy in the air, and without Dean's scent intermingling with it, it encourages the murderous haze to return.

I turn to the few witches remaining, "Now, where were we?"


	5. Chapter 4: Threats From Above

**Next Chapter!**

 **I hope you guys liked the last, even if it was pretty dark.**

 **I really don't want you to dislike the OC, but I can't make you like her without revealing too much.**

 **Just trust me when I say, there's a really bloody good reason for why she does the things she does.**

 **I hope you enjoy the next chapter, and let me know if you hate it or not. It's all bout the boys, this one. Finally a little interaction that's not over in two seconds ;)**

* * *

4: Threats From Above

"Cas, you don't understand. She took down this wendigo like it was nothing."

The man in the trench coat – Cas, the same guy who magically whisked the two brothers away in the tomb a few weeks ago – squints at Sam.

"Just straight up lit that mother on fire," Dean finishes, "Held it against the tree like it was nothing, did that crazy magic trick where she turns into smoke, too."

I wasn't even aware of the fact that they saw it happen, I thought I was alone. But now the two heartbeats I heard during the fight with the wendigo make sense.

"I see," Cas says, his voice deep.

Dean chews through a bite of his burger, brows rising, "And don't even get us started on the whole, witch slaughter house thing she had going on. By the time we got there half of them were already dead."

"But we did get her name," Sam points out, "Evelyn, and an 'Algernon'?"

Cas looks down at the table, hands resting comfortably on his thighs. He looks like he's deep in thought, considering his next words carefully, "I have not heard of those names before, not in relation to assassins, anyway."

"Great," Dean says, looking out of the diner window, "So basically, you still have nothing for us then."

Cas looks up, head tilting to the side, "I have asked others, but none know of her origins, nor have they heard of her before. It is like she has been cloaked."

"So why did the witches know about her?"

Sam frowns, fingers coming to rest on his laptop as he faces his brother and the new guy fully, "Wait, why do they know about her? Maybe that's where we should look first, hunt down a few witches and see if they know anything."

Dean snorts, "Oh yeah, and where do we even start? There's gotta be at least a thousand witches skulking around these parts, and they don't exactly like us."

Cas nods, "This is true, your reputation amongst the local witches is…" he looks way, his nose wrinkling as he scans the diner, and I look away too, taking a sip of my tea.

So far they haven't noticed me, and I think it's because the diner is packed with people. A waitress makes her way over to my table again before propping her hip against the empty chair opposite me.

"Can I get you anything else?"

I glance down at the menu before sneaking a look at the guys again. The burger that Dean has looks good, so I order that with a smile. She doesn't smile back, instead she flounces off to refill my tea pot.

"Have you found anything at the bunker?"

Sam shakes his head, "Nothing."

"Not a damn thing," Dean continues, "We've torn the place apart, even had Kevin looking for something on her for a while, too. There's a tonne of shit on assassins and mercenaries, but none of it mentions her name."

"Or the ring, or her awakening ritual," Sam adds.

"This is most troubling," Cas replies, eyes scanning the streets outside, "The witches who resurrected her have warded themselves against anything supernatural, so I cannot locate them. There is not much I can do besides searching the neighbouring towns again, but-"

"Yeah, we know," Dean says.

"-But, take comfort in the fact that this assassin does not seem to be an immediate threat, Dean."

Sam sighs, but Dean is the one who visibly reacts, his head lowering as his eyes narrow, "Immediate threat?" he laughs, "That's rich coming from someone who's not on the top of her most wanted list."

"But is it not true, Dean?" Cas says, dark brows rising, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but from what you two have told me, since the witches have awakened her no attempts have been made on your life. In retrospect, she seems to have saved your life, if the story about your encounter with the werewolves is true."

Dean scoffs but doesn't answer.

This Cas guy, I'm not sure how to feel about him. On the one hand I'm curious, his powers are ridiculous, but on the other hand I'm suspicious. I still have no idea as to what he actually is. He's definitely not a witch, and he's definitely not a demon.

"Maybe we can lure her out?" Sam says, focusing on his laptop once more, "I've been running her description through multiple databases on the off chance that something pops up – say… if she applies for credit or something."

"Like an ancient assassin needs credit," Dean snorts, "If she wants anything she's not going to be above stealing it… or killing for it."

I nod to myself. I can only agree with his assessment, the stealing part, anyway. After all, I stole money for my phone, didn't I? Unnecessary killing, however, I'm not so sure about. But what Sam is suggesting is troubling, as I know the witches have been working behind the scenes to create a false identity for myself, not that I asked them to do that. The likelihood of that coming up on Sam's database is high, considering I have strong characteristics.

"It doesn't hurt to look, Dean," Sam says, "Besides, Cas is right. She hasn't tried to kill you, yet. In fact, she _has_ helped us so far. She's probably the worst assassin in the history of assassins."

Rude. I thank the waitress as she hands me my burger.

At least Dean has good taste; it's amazing, the first bite laden with flavour.

"She did get rid of the wendigo for us, and she took out that coven of witches, and like Cas said – she saved our arses when it came down to the werewolves, like it or not," Sam continues, eyes falling onto his brother once more.

Dean grunts, and I use this opportunity to really get a good look at the trio. They're dressed much more casually than before – barring Cas, who looks relatively at ease in his trench coat and suit – they fit in more with the locals.

I'm more interested in this Cas fellow, however. His abilities are intriguing, the power to transport others… I want to find out more about him. Plus the witches are clueless about this guy, I've heard them whispering about it before. So any information on him will be valuable, if they ever ask me about what I've been up to again. At least this way I'll have an answer.

Look at me, being all agreeable with the hags.

I mean, I could tail the guy once they leave, but I doubt they're going to be moving anytime soon. I've found that once they settle in at a diner, they tend to not move for a while, and it looks like Dean's ordering a desert, too. He hasn't even finished his burger yet.

And tailing someone is incredibly boring, for the most part. So is watching them, to be brutally honest.

I could go ask them… it would make this little experience more interesting, after all. And I doubt they'll try anything now, not when we're in the middle of rush hour. Plus, it's incredibly entertaining, speaking to the Winchesters.

Mind made up, I push away from my table – burger thoroughly destroyed – downing the rest of my tea before walking over to their booth. They don't notice at first, it's only when I take the empty seat next to Cas that they bother looking up.

And I knew it would be worth it.

Leaning back, I smile, one arm casually flung behind Trench Coat.

Dean stops mid chew, mouth open as his eyes land on me, his body turned ever so slightly towards his brother. Sam's jaw clenches something fierce, his eyes resting on my frame as his hands stop their ceaseless tapping on his laptop. But I think Cas's reaction is my favourite. He just turns to me, eyes narrowed, like he's more confused by my presence than anything else.

"What the fuck?" Dean says, and I honestly feel like I'm the nerdy kid who's just decided to sit down at the popular table.

I shrug, "I heard you guys talking about me, so I came over to see what all the fuss was about."

Dean's head flicks towards his brothers, green eyes wide and Sam shares his what-the-fuck-is-going-on look.

"Gossiping doesn't become you, fellas."

Dean turns back, and judging from the subtle movement of his arm, I don't have to be a genius to know that he's just pulled a gun out from underneath the table, and I bet that it's pointed directly at me.

I lean forwards, elbows resting on the table, so close that I can see the differing shades of green in his eyes, "Come on now, Dean. Even I know you're not that stupid."

"What makes you think I won't gun you down, right now?" he says back, his voice low and dangerous. It draws me further in, and a smile pulls at my lips, my eyes dropping of their own accord to his own, remarkably full lips. Right now, they're forming a dangerously straight line.

"Because," I say, meeting his eyes once again, "If you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a crowded diner, in the middle of the day."

"Dean," Sam says, a warning, "She's right. Put the gun away."

Dean's gaze doesn't waver, however, and neither does his gun, so to get this show on the road I reach under the table and swipe the offending weapon off of him. The movement is fast, so fast that Dean doesn't have a chance to snatch it back, and I grin as we both lean back, him much more annoyed than before.

I tuck the piece into the waist band of my jeans, "Now that that's out of the way," I start, but Dean is quick to interrupt me. He leans across the table, eyes fastened on Cas.

"Can't you do something? Anything?! Like, maybe zap her to the middle of Antarctica, or burn her eyes out," he says the last bit to me, and I narrow my eyes in response to his quick, tight smile.

Cas frowns, "No, Dean, I cannot."

"Why?!"

"Because we are in the middle of a crowded diner," he says, reiterating my earlier statement.

"So? She's trying to kill me!"

Cas glances down at me and I give him my best, innocent smile.

"No she is not, Dean. Not at this moment in time. She's not doing anything to warrant a painful death."

He speaks in such an odd way, but I find myself genuinely smiling up at him, and his eyes narrow even further.

"Good point, Cas," I say, sending a scowl Dean's way.

"What is the point in having you around if you're not going to… smite her?" Dean snaps back, ignoring me.

Smite?

I turn my full attention towards Cas, "Which brings me back to my original point, the whole reason why I came over here in the first place. What the fuck are you?"

He blinks, head twitching to one side, "Excuse me?"

I tap my fingers against the table, "You heard me. What are you, exactly? I've been dying to know."

"Don't tell her Cas, maybe it will actually kill her."

I scowl at Dean, kicking his booted foot underneath the table. His brows rise, surprise opening up his features and he looks at Sam, who only shrugs in response.

"I am an-"

"Cas!" Dean growls, and Cas sends him a squinted glare.

"But Dean, she is asking-"

"I know what she's asking, don't even bother-"

"Come on, Cas. It's only one, measly question. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I say, flexing my own powers. My eyes flash dark, ivy trails of black crawling down my cheeks before disappearing completely, fading away. I grin when his blue eyes narrow just a little.

"Don't say-"

"I am an Angel of the Lord," Cas finishes before Dean can, interrupting him and the hunter groans, his head falling forwards before he sends a scathing glare across the table.

But I'm having a hard time believing what he said, over here, and I laugh, "A what now?"

He can't be serious.

But from the look in his eyes, I genuinely believe that he _believes_ he is one.

"I am an Angel of the Lord," he repeats, and I scoff.

"Bullshit, no way. Angels aren't real."

Dean slumps back into his seat, eyes rolling to the ceiling. Sam seems to have forgotten his earlier disdain for me as he leans forwards, though, his eyes flickering back and forth between me and the so called 'angel'.

"It is true," Cas says, and I raise a lip.

"Prove it."

"I cannot, not here, anyway."

"Then you're a liar."

It happens fast. Too fast for me to follow, and that's saying something. One second we're in the diner, the next we're outside in the alleyway, and I stumble backwards, taking in the change of scenery with a strangled gasp.

Cas stands opposite me, his legs braced shoulder width apart and everything around us darkens considerably, the only light coming from the centre of his eyes, a bright white beam that burns out of his pupils and blinds me momentarily. Beyond the light, two large wings emerge from the guys back, towering above us. It's kind of magnificent, admittedly.

It's over just as quickly as it starts, and we're sat back in the diner. I slam back into the chair, all arms and legs as I scramble up, heart pounding as voices drift back into existence.

Dean and Sam haven't changed position at all, and it looks like they haven't even noticed that we were gone.

In fact, not a single person is reacting to the blatant display of power over here, and I send a stunned glance around the room, not really believing it myself.

"They do not know what happened," Cas supplies, and he motions towards the two brothers who frown in response, "And neither do they. It is like we stepped outside of time, for a moment."

I can't even manage to find my words, and Dean shakes his head incredulously at Cas.

"What did you just do? Did you just show her something?"

"Oh, he showed me something, alright," I say, a little breathless.

"Why would you do that?!"

Cas looks a little mollified as he replies, eyes flickering to me before he speaks to Dean, "She called me a liar. I did not lie, Dean."

Dean turns on me, jaw clenched. A muscle flutters wildly in his jaw, and I watch the display of anger with a smile.

"Okay, enough. What do you want? Before I blow your fucking head off," Dean snarls quietly, and I open my mouth to once again point out the abundance of witness around us, but he shakes his head, "I don't care if they see."

I raise a brow.

"Try me," he finally snaps, and Sam is the one to pull Dean's attention away.

"Calm down, before we make a scene. We can't do this here, not with so many people around."

"Then let's do this outside," Dean says, "Right now, let's take it outside. Show her exactly who she's dealing with."

Oh, I'd bet he'd love to do that, and the rising anger within me encourages me to take him up on his offer. I can picture it now, his death, and I lean forwards, canines lengthening as the dark energy inside begins to swirl into existence again, my eyes darkening of their own accord. I don't know what it is, maybe it's the curse finally starting take over, strengthening its hold over my mind. But the bloodlust is building, especially as I look into his eyes, breathing in his outdoorsy scent.

"Oh, you really want to do this now? Huh?" I smile, "Because let me tell you this, Dean Winchester. You will not will. You will die," his eyes harden, the anger there palpable, "You're nothing compared to me," I continue, true anger contorting my features as the air around us begins to grow cold, "I've been made for this, Dean. Do not forget that."

And it's true. I'm not even bragging. He may be a skilled fighter, he may even have an angel and a brother backing him up, but I'm being brutally, savagely honest. I know what I've been forced to be capable of, I know the horror that my hands can inflict. What the curse can make me do. And for him to tempt it, to tempt the curse into taking over so soon, he's playing with fire.

"I want nothing more, bitch," he snarls back, voice as rough as gravel, low enough for only my ears to hear.

But our rendezvous is cut short. The first signs of a summoning creep their way across my skin, like tiny hooks that pull on every exposed part of my body, raising goose bumps. It's over fast, and a shimmer of energy passes through me, packing a punch. It washes through my body like a cold wave of water, and I slump backwards, groaning.

"Oh, for fucks sake," I manage to snarl before I'm pulled out of the world.

The only thing I can possibly describe the experience as being like is as if someone has thrown me into a washing machine and turned it on full blast. It hurts, it's uncomfortable, and my mood sours as I appear before the witches a second later. They stand in a small semi-circle, surrounding the pot of sacrificial blood as smoke rises steadily from their candles, the smell of lavender coating the air.

Sadie stumbles, blood streaming out of her nose and she groans, the sound gurgled from the blood pooling in her throat.

"You better have a good reason for pulling me out of there," I snarl, stepping forwards

Agatha catches Sadie before she collapses fully, her eyes wide with surprise as she ignores my statement, "Why is she still passing out?"

I look down my nose at her before shrugging, "Hell if I know, maybe she's not strong enough."

The four witches look dismayed, but I'm far too pissed off to be pleased with their disappointment.

"What do you want? I have places to be."

Agatha stands, the other two witches pulling Sadie up as she holds a bloodied cloth to her nose. She doesn't look so good.

"We want a true update on your progress with the Winchesters."

I look up, taking in the wooden ceiling. Fists clenched hard, I breathe out slowly through my nose, "You ever heard of a phone?"

Sadie shakes her head, swaying before she rights herself, "Yes, but you don't answer when we call."

"And you wonder why," I snap, folding my arms, "Is that really all you wanted me for?"

The other two witches nod, but Sadie at least has the common sense to look a little chagrined as she replies. I have no doubt in my mind that the others forced her into this; they get impatient.

"No… Yes."

Someone kill me.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, "I was just literally with the Winchesters before you summoned me, dragging me away for no apparent reason."

"Well, if you replied every once in a while," Agatha snaps.

I refrain from rolling my eyes, focusing on keeping my anger at bay.

It looks like we're in some sort of basement, and I'm guessing we're underneath the safe house. Which means I'm surrounded by witches again. My skin crawls at the thought.

I step out of the summoning circle, done with them as I head towards the stairs.

"I'll text you next time, every time I'm with the Winchesters, I'll let you know."

Sadie apparently doesn't like this reply, as she steps into my path, "Where the hell do you think you're going?" she snaps, and as I move to step around her she intercepts me again. Her face pales as I glare down at her, but her chin lifts in defiance, "We still have jobs we need you to do on the side."

"Do them yourself," I snap back.

She makes a stupid move next, and I almost don't process it. Her hand connects with my cheek, the slap reverberating loudly through the room and the momentum has my head snapping to the side.

I _definitely_ did not expect that.

The other women gasp, and as I turn back towards Sadie she crosses her arms, "Don't forget that we own you, you do what w _e_ say, you ungrateful piece of-"

I wrap a hand around her throat, picking her up and slamming her into the staircase wall. Ornaments rattle as wood groans in response, and I stare into her eyes as she sputters, hands clawing uselessly at my own.

"Oh, Sadie," I say, a laugh passing through my lips. The sound is anything but joyous, "You're really dumb, you know that?"

She wheezes, pulse battering wildly beneath my fingertips, and Agatha steps forwards. She stops dead in her tracks when I glare at her over my shoulder.

I turn my attention back towards Sadie, smiling as her face begins to turn purple, "You ladies seem to forget that I'm not your personal attack dog, waiting around for your every command. Quite the opposite, actually. There's a reason they call me an assassin, and not a slave."

As expected, the ring on her finger begins to glow, growing brighter the longer I hold onto Sadie's neck. Pain pulses up my arm, but I don't drop her until blood vessels begin to burst in her eyes.

She sags to the floor as I let go, gagging as I crouch to her level. Tears and blood careen down her cheeks.

"You can't control me, Sadie, but that doesn't mean I can't hurt you, or your little coven," to make sure she gets the message, I take the hand with the ring on it and break two of her fingers. She yells, the sound broken, and I pat her cheek, "I'll kill Dean Winchester, but that's all you'll be getting from me, sweetheart."

I stand once again, brushing down my clothes before turning towards the other three. Their eyes are cold as they take me in, but not one of them looks at Sadie.

"I'm sure it goes without saying, but don't try to summon me again," I say, "Especially for something as inane as that."

I duck my head, waving my fingers goodbye before heading up the stairs and out of the house.

Great, now the Winchesters will think that I ran away.

One point to Dean.

But now, maybe the witches won't summon me again, if they've learnt their lesson.

Which is doubtful. Very doubtful, indeed.


	6. Chapter 5: One Of Us

**Heeeey guys!**

 **Hope you're all well!**

 **Thank you for the reviews! It really is motivating, especially when they're positive :) I definitely will be continuing this, so don't worry, even if no one reads this I'll probably still write it :')**

 **This one took a bit longer, Uni has just ended for this semester and all my essays have been due, but now I'm free till January :)**

 **Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy! :)**

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5: One Of Us

"I want you to hurt him."

I look up from my phone, "Uh… Yeah, I got that."

Sadie shakes her head, the bruises on her neck still very much apparent, "No, I mean… The others, they're getting pissed, you know? They know that you're out there doing _something_ , but Dean – the Winchesters are _still_ out there too. They're worried."

I shrug, "Tell me something I don't already know."

Sadie sighs, shoulders slumping, "You're not listening. The Winchesters are still actively hunting us. The other day they nearly caught Patricia, and they know – they know something about you. She heard them say your name, say Algernon's name," she rubs a hand over her neck, swallowing, "You need to send them a message, whilst at the same time letting the others know you're taking this whole thing seriously. Show them you're on the path to killing him, since you won't kill him just yet for some, unknown reason."

Standing in her study, I'm getting a strong sense of déjà vu here, "Okay, you told me this a few weeks ago. Why don't you tell me what you want me to do? Tell me how you want me to hurt him. That way we both get what we want."

She moves to the other side of her desk, wringing her fingers before she faces me, "If you won't kill him now… just – I don't know, rough him up? Warn him off of us."

I feel like I'm starring in a really shitty remake of the Godfather, and Sadie is playing the big man, but I nod my head anyway, eager to leave the room.

"Okay, next time I see him I'll 'rough him up', tell him to back off. Will that do?"

She bites her lip, and I'm starting to feel a little guilty, seeing the way the bruises contrast with her increasingly pale skin, "Yeah, yeah, that's good. But before you go," she starts as I begin to leave, and I sigh, turning back around.

"Do you have a plan? I mean, to kill them. Have you got a plan?"

I tilt my head to the side, eyeing the bookcase behind her as I consider my answer. So many possibilities work their way through my head, so many ideas. All of them are doable, but a few big problems keep presenting themselves.

One, they have a fucking angel.

Two, I don't want to reset the curse, allowing the witches to issue another command.

And three, I don't like any of them so I genuinely just don't want to do it anyway.

But I can feel the rising urge to kill, the rising bloodlust, despite my lack of enthusiasm for the job. A reminder of the curse, ever present on the fringes of my mind, colouring my thoughts with an edge of violence. Little things are becoming harder to ignore, small annoyances become big problems, and I know it's getting worse. My hands itch with the urge to do something violent, to hurt.

"Sort of."

Sadie looks like she's about to argue, but I'm already out of the door. My skin crawls as I make my way through the house, and I can't get to a bar quick enough. I need alcohol.

* * *

The bar in Lebanon is becoming a favourite of mine. Classic rock oozes out of the speakers, a low background thrum that sets the mood for the place adequately. It's not too well known, but enough come in here to keep the atmosphere lively.

Enough to not be noticed, anyway.

And the liquor here is strong, real strong.

It helps to numb things, even if my metabolism eats up the alcohol in no time at all.

It just means that I have to keep drinking, so I do, enjoying the burn as the whisky travels down my throat.

The racing thoughts come to a halt, the urge to hurt simmers instead of boils, and for a few blessed moments I can actually think clearly, to a certain extent, that is.

There's another reason as to why I chose this bar, though, rather than sticking with one closer to the witches. Besides to need to get as far away as possible from them.

It's one the Winchesters frequent, and they seem to be coming here a lot more often recently – personally I think it's something to do with a hunt. A few deaths have surfaced around these parts, unusual deaths that warrant the attention of hunters. Of course Sam and Dean would be all over that shit. And this bar seems to be at the centre of it all.

So I drown my sorrows, waiting for them.

I need to show that witches that I'm taking the contract seriously, that I haven't been procrastinating these last few weeks.

Sadie's right, whether I like it or not. I need to rough him up a little, something to appease them, before they do something stupid.

Eddie – the bar tender – slides another drink my way and I nod my thanks. His dark eyes watch my frame with barely disguised interest as he works his way through drying his glasses.

"I got no idea how you're still standin', girl."

I shrug, offering a small smile, "Guess I can handle my drink."

He grunts, dark brows rising.

I know the exact moment when the Winchesters – more precisely, Dean – enter the bar. A draft circles through the place, winding its way up the back of my leather jacket and I sit up straighter, his scent curling around me, chasing away the strong smell of whisky. It brings a strong sense of temptation with it, and I tighten my hold on my glass, relenting only when a crack appears on the side.

I keep my body faced towards the bar, but I look over my shoulder, taking a sip of my drink. Eyes hooded, I scan the entrance until I spot them.

They look relatively at ease, but they definitely demand attention as they make their way towards the bar. Few acknowledge them beyond a simple head nod, however, and as Dean takes in the bar I smile.

His eyes land on me a few seconds later, and his entire demeanour shifts. Once light, easy going eyes turn cold and hard, and his mouth turns down ever so slightly at the corners.

Sam glances at his brother, confusing apparent across his face before he follows his gaze to where I am, and his face also drops as I wink at him.

Wow, way to make a girl feel welcome, guys.

"He an old boyfriend or somethin'?" Eddie says, nodding his head towards Dean. I turn my attention back towards the bar, shrugging.

"Or something."

"Well, he looks pissed off, lady. You need any help or anythin'?"

I smile, looking up through my lashes, "Ah, I'll be fine, thank you anyway though. He won't do anything, he's a big softie really."

Eddie doesn't look convinced, but he does move away as soon as two arms clad in leather lean against the bar. Dean takes the stool besides mine, Sam taking a seat at a table a few feet away. Probably keeping watch or something, or making sure I don't run away.

Dean's glare is dark as he takes me in, flagging Eddie down. He orders the same as me, and I watch as he takes a sip of his whisky a few moments later, licking his bottom lip afterwards. Something warm flushes through my body, and I grimace. Maybe the curse is throwing a tantrum, because that hasn't happened before.

"You really," he begins, eyes narrowing, "Can't be this stupid."

I laugh, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, "Déjà vu, huh? Swear I said the same thing to you the other day."

His smile is tight, but the façade soon drops. He stands ever so slightly, leaning into me. Dean is a tall guy, and to anybody else his towering presence could be considered intimidating, but as his fresh outdoorsy scent surrounds me, it just invigorates me more.

"You should leave, before it gets real messy in here," he growls, and I lean back, taking a long pull of my drink. He watches the movement, eyes fastened on my mouth as the golden liquid disappears, and I lick my lips after it's gone too.

"Nah, I think I'll stay," I finally say, "I like it here. The drinks are nice."

"It wasn't a request."

"Try me," I say, voice low enough for only his ears to catch.

Honestly, his reaction is warranted. I can't be annoyed with it, especially if they are hunting. I'm in the way again, and their egos are probably still bruised from the fiasco with the werewolves. Still, the pit in my stomach deepens as I meet his eyes - whether that's because of the fact that I know I'll be hurting him tonight, I don't know.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't tempt me," he snaps, and a warm hand encircles my bicep, cutting off the blood supply.

I raise a brow, but don't have time to reply as encroaching footsteps interrupt our little spat. Eddie stands on the opposite side of the bar, bracing his well-muscled arms on the top as he takes in Dean's hand currently squeezing my arm.

"We got a problem here?"

Dean looks at Eddie, frowning before his brows inch up his forehead, "Seriously?"

Eddie's eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, "Listen, I don't want no domestic lovers squabble or whatever it is you two have going on 'ere, 'specially if you're gonna hurt the girl."

Dean's face is priceless and he lets go, pulling away like I've burnt him, "Okay, first off, this ain't no lovers squabble, and secondly, she deserves everything she gets."

I mean, I know I'm supposed to kill him, so I agree somewhat. But Eddie doesn't know that, and he looks a little pissed off when Dean says this.

"You some kinda woman beater?"

Dean sputters, "Hell no!"

"Then why do you wanna hurt her?"

Dean looks away, jaw clenching hard before turning back to the bar tender, "I don't – I mean, it's not like – it isn't that way – Fuck!"

"I think it's 'bout time you leave, boy."

I rub my arm for effect, blinking a few times.

Dean shakes his head, "What? Why?"

Sam wisely chooses this moment to intervene as Dean's fists tighten.

"Come on, Dean. Let's just go."

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters before turning to me, finger jabbing roughly into my shoulder, "This is your fault."

I grab his finger, "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to point," I hiss.

He yanks his hand away, eyes fiery.

Eddie slaps a tea towel over his shoulder, turning to me, "You too, pretty lady. I don't want no trouble in here, and it looks like you two are the definition of the word."

I scowl, standing before whirling on Dean, "Oh thanks a lot, dickhead," I snap, although I'm far too amused to be genuinely angry.

Dean's mouth flops open, but Sam is quick to step in, standing between the two of us.

"Dean, ignore her. We can go next door, I'm sure they've also seen something."

"Yeah, _Dean_. Listen to your brother. Run away."

Oh, that gets him.

His features harden, a muscle twitching in his jaw. I move away though, heading for the side door that I know leads to a rather derelict alley. The bar is a good choice because it's in a rough neighbourhood, they don't exactly come running if they hear screams. And the back alley is hidden away from the main, usually empty road.

I exit the place, the cool night air carrying the scent of watered down booze with it. As expected, Dean follows shortly afterwards, his brother rushing out behind him.

"Dean, stop! It's not worth it!"

"You should probably listen to Sam, Dean," I say, turning to them. His hands curl into tight fists by his side, "Before you get hurt."

Sam moves in front of his brother, "Think about it, she's doing this on purpose, she's trying to get a reaction out of you."

"So?" Dean snaps, eyes falling on me, "So what if she is? We can end this now."

"End what? Huh? How do we even end this when we don't know how to kill her? And yeah, she's supposed to kill you, but she hasn't done anything so far," Sam pleads, and I cock my head to the side, "She's technically innocent."

Dean glares at him.

Oh right, so that's it, that's what it will take. The two heroes won't hurt the innocent, obviously, so I have to do something bad to get Dean to come for me.

"She's still a monster, Sammy."

Or maybe not.

Sam ducks his head, "I know, but we both know that not all monsters are bad," he turns to me, "You know you don't have to do this. You don't have to do what they say, you can fight it, if you wanted to."

I laugh, shaking my head, "Are you trying to appeal to my good side?"

Sam opens his mouth, eyes softening but he's interrupted. Footsteps come from around the corner of the alley, and we turn towards the newcomers. Four people approach us, and they stop as they acknowledge our presence. They all share a look and I frown.

"Can I help you?" I say, after a few seconds of awkward silence.

A girl that looks to be in her mid-twenties quickly fastens herself to the guy in front, her bloody hands clutching his shirt, leaving imprints behind, "Can't you smell it? Smell her?"

Weird. I watch on as they all simultaneously inhale before their eyes fall on me again.

"You're right," The guy in front says, flicking his long hair out of his face, "She does smell like us, a little bit, anyway."

Another guy, this one built like he's had one too many steroid injections steps forwards, "She smells wrong, like us but not. It ain't right."

The girl with the bloody hands snarls at him, "Shut your mouth, Kory."

"Not to interrupt," I say, "But what the fuck are you all talking about? And why are you here? Can't you see we're in the middle of something?" I motion towards the Winchesters, and the two brothers straighten in response, their eyes going wide.

The girl moves towards me, but Long Hair pulls her back with a stern look that she ignores, "You're one of us," she says a little breathlessly, "At least, I think so. You're our true leader."

Kory hisses, storming forwards and grabbing her arm, "Shut up! You're gonna get us killed! We all know you're wrong, and the Alpha will kill you if he finds out you're speaking that way."

What the fuck is going on?

Sam and Dean share my confused look, despite our earlier disagreements.

"Care to elaborate," I say.

As if on cue, their many fangs slide into place as they come closer.

"Vampires," Dean growls, pulling out a machete from beneath his jacket. Sam follows suit, pulling a knife out.

The girl with the bloody hands is faster than the rest, and she comes to my side, looking up at me with wide, adoring eyes. It's very awkward, and I lean away from her.

"Cara, get back," Long haired snaps, "The Winchester's are literally right there."

Cara looks away from me, sizing up the two brothers, "So? She'll protect us."

I scowl, "Will I now?"

She nods, "You're ours. You will. We even brought you a present."

Kory rolls his eyes, "No, we didn't."

"Shut up," Cara hisses, before looking at the quiet vampire in the back, the one yet to talk, "Derrick, get the girl."

Derrick nods, moving quietly away and the Winchesters and I both crane our necks to follow him. He disappears behind a corner, and Cara smiles up at me. There's a muffled cry of alarm before he appears a moment later, a new girl in tow, except she isn't part of their weird crew.

Her dirty blonde hair is matted with blood, and her hands are tied together, a strip of tape slapped over her mouth. She looks terrified as she takes us all in, her legs shaking something fierce. The four newcomers watch her with barely disguised hunger, their fangs still in place.

Blood dots their fronts, and I can tell that they must've recently killed… something. They look like they've been to a slaughter house.

They're definitely not giving off a friendly vibe.

"Oh, hell no," Dean snaps, "Big mistake."

Sam eyes the girl too, but I'm far too confused to react appropriately.

The girl is shoved my way, and Cara grabs her arm, tightening her hold as the girl whimpers.

"Here, we got this for you."

"Why?" I say, and Cara cocks her head to the side.

"To eat? Duh."

"There ain't gonna be no eating," Dean says, stepping forwards but he's ignored.

I blink, "I uh, I don't eat – I don't suck blood, or whatever it is you do."

Cara frowns, as do her brethren, "But… you have to. You're like us."

I snort, "I most definitely am not."

Kory moves closer, his eyes going from Dean to myself, his fangs still bared, "See! I told you."

"Wait," Cara snaps, before turning to me, "I don't understand. You have something of us in you, I can sense it. Of course you're one of us."

I shake my head, "I think you're confused lady," And they're also seriously annoying me. This little detour was amusing at first, but the Winchesters are growing increasingly angsty, which means they're gonna start slicing and dicing soon. Which delays my plans, of course. Despite following orders, I still want to do other things tonight.

"I said she wasn't anything to do with us, even if we sense something in her. She's an abomination. We should kill her before the Alpha finds out we even spoke to her."

Abomination? Well that's fucking rude. Who are these people?

I laugh though, taking in Kory's increasingly aggravated posture, "Oh, I'd like to see you try."

Sam and Dean have been oddly quiet, and as I glance at them I see why. Dean is edging his way towards Cara, and Sam is moving towards Kory, probably to keep the attention off of his brother.

"Let's kill her now," Kory says to the long haired one, their leader, and he eyes me.

"No! She is one us, she just doesn't know it," Cara says, eyes desperate, "I'll prove it."

Her teeth snap down, and she yanks the girls head back before taking a sizeable chunk out of the girl's neck. The girl screams under the tape and Dean shouts something, but Sam warns him off with a single look.

Blood cascades like a river down the girl's front, and I raise a lip as the coppery scent hits me fast. She sways, eyes flickering as blood continues to tumble out of her body, and Cara watches me, waiting for something. All I can offer is slight disgust.

"See," snarls Kory, "She's not one of us, and now you've wasted our meal for tonight."

With blood covering her mouth, Cara cocks her head to the side, eyebrows pulling together but she doesn't get to reply, because Kory charges my way.

He doesn't have time to change trajectory because I turn to his hulking body and grasp it instinctually, before throwing him across the alley. He slams into a metal dumpster, creating a sizeable dent in it before slumping down to the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind.

"Bitch!" Long Haired snarls, and he comes for me too.

"No! Stop!" Cara cries, but her brothers ignore her.

The two vamps circle me fast, hands curled into claws as their eyes take on a frenzied glow. They move quick, launching at me with no hesitation. I counter Long Haired, twisting his arm behind his back as he swipes at me, my own fangs sliding into place as my eyes turn black. I snap the bone, earning a startled cry before shoving him away, whirling on Derrick just before he manages to land his teeth in my back. I grab him by the neck, lifting him up before breaking it, tossing him to the side.

A knife falls out of his jacket, clattering to the floor and I pick it up, turning in time to stab Long Haired in the heart.

"Will a knife to the heart kill you guys or?" I say, my question aimed at Cara. Long Haired snarls, teeth covered in blood.

"You need to cut their heads off!" Sam yells, and Dean punches him in the arm, earning a scowl.

"Oh," I nod, grinning at them, "Thank you," before I pull the knife out. Blood spurts, and I send the blade through the guy's neck. It's just long enough to sever it, and his head rolls to the floor, his body following.

Kory lumbers to a stand, and I flip the knife in my grip. He blinks, straightening and it takes a few seconds before he sees his fallen comrades, and his features twist in response. He leaps my away again, and I use his own momentum against him, twisting him before slamming his body into the ground. He grunts, but the sound is cut off as the knife slices through his neck.

I pick up Derrick, his neck lolling to one side. He blinks, though, hissing as his fingers begin to move once again, but before he can heal I behead him too, and Cara cries out.

"How can you?"

I drop the body, dusting my hands, "How can I what?"

"Kill them! Kill your own kind after we tried to join you."

I shrug, "Quite easily, actually. And you're not my kind."

Tears shine in her eyes before she screams, a snarl ripping out of her throat as she hurtles towards me. I put a stop to it quickly, and her head tumbles to the floor.

I wipe the spray of blood from my face, eyeing her fallen body. Why did she keep on insisting that I'm one of them?

Strange, utterly strange, and for a moment I stare at the chaos at my feet, all five bodies leaking a serious amount of blood onto the asphalt. What a weird turn of events.

The sound of shuffling clothing draws my attention away, and I acknowledge the Winchesters once again. I breathe out slowly, laughing slightly as they take me in.

"Looks like I cleaned up another mess for you," I say, and Sam glances down at the bodies as his brother joins his side once again.

"Or created one for us," Dean snaps, "Couldn't you have killed them before they hurt her?"

"Hurt who?" I say, glancing down. The girl with no throat stares up at me with blank eyes, "Oh, her? Well, in my defence, I didn't know that they were gonna offer her up on silver platter to me now, did I?"

Sam shakes his head, "What the hell was that about?"

I shrug, "No idea. Weird though, right?"

He nods, but stops when Dean scowls at him.

"This doesn't change anything, I'm still gonna gank you," Dean says, machete swinging ominously.

"What does gank mean? Is it something kinky?" I say, raising a brow.

"Nobody has to gank anybody!" Sam snaps, "I still mean what I said earlier. You don't have to kill him… we can even help you."

I look up, trying to recall the conversation that took place before the little vampire interruption, "Help me?"

Sam shifts from foot to foot, ignoring Dean's scowl, "Yes, we can try to figure this out, get you out of the contract or whatever it is."

I laugh, dropping the knife from earlier. Sadie's words float through my mind, urging me to hurt them, to appease the witches in some sort of way. And the curse encourages it. I want to do it, I want to hurt him. Like it or not, I do have to do this. I have to kill Dean, whether I want to or not. And most likely that means killing Sam and the angel guy, too. If they come for revenge, which they most certainly will do. There is no choice, there is no moral compass. Even now the curse is starting to take hold.

And there is no getting out of it. Doesn't he know that I've tried everything there is to try over the years? How many things I've done to try and escape this thing?

So I face Sam fully, shaking my head, "My good side?"

Sam nods, eyes soft and pleading, and I bite my lip as I look away.

"Oh Sam. You forget, I'm a monster, right?" I look pointedly at Dean, his eyes darkening in response, "I don't have a good side."

And I lunge at Sam.


	7. Chapter 6: Fragile Control

**Hi Guys!**

 **Happy Holidays! Hope you've had a wonderful day.**

 **It's been a little hectic, and I wanted to post this earlier but better late than never right?**

 **I'm not sure I'm truly happy with it but hopefully you like it! It's hard writing fight scenes :( never know when to stop or when there isnt enough.**

 **Thank you guys for reviewing the previous chapter, and I'm sorry for the cliffhanger! Had to be done at some point, right? But your positive words are encouraging me to write and know that I do read them and take all comments seriously :)**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

6: Fragile Control

Sam goes down with a thud, his back scraping the ground and he groans, but it's not because of myself, no. Dean shoves him out of the way of my clawed hands, and instead I wrap them around Dean's neck, eyes bleeding black.

I squeeze but he's fast, and I duck under the swing of the machete, reeling back to avoid the next blow. His fist flies past my face and I growl, sending a fist into his stomach.

He grunts but recovers quickly, and I back away with a grin, flashing my canines as I dance just out of his reach. I flex my fingers, dark claws extending ever so slightly and his eyes follow the movement.

"Stop!" Sam yells, moving to stand.

Dean comes for me this time, blade ready but I counter it, grabbing his arm mid swing and twisting him around. I slam him into the brick wall face first but he snaps his head back, catching me in the nose.

I lunge back, sniffing as pain lances across my face, blood flowing easily.

"You nearly broke my nose, Winchester," I say, chuckling as I check the bone. It's not broken, but damn that fucking hurt.

Dean grins, twisting the machete in his hand, "Shame I didn't break it fully."

Sam steps between us, panting, "Just stop for a goddamn second, Dean!"

"She started it!" Dean hisses, and I smile.

Before Sam can retort I swipe his legs out from under him with my own. He grunts, landing with a crack.

He must have so many concussions, he always manages to hit his head on the way down, and inwardly I wince once again.

"Hey, bitch!" Dean snarls, "This is between me an' you."

I shrug, meeting Sam's eyes as he blinks a little blearily up at me, "Stay out of the way, Sam."

He doesn't reply, not that Dean gives him chance to anyway. He's already on the move, tackling me and I roll with it, spinning us so he takes the brunt of the impact. The machete scatters across the floor, just out of reach and I straddle him, grinning victoriously before retracting my claws, curling my fingers into fists.

The first blow is harsh, sending his face sharply to the left and he grunts, blood spraying. One more hit and he finally reacts, glaring up at me with a fire that I know all too well, a fire that only violence can quench. He switches our positions with a strength that I don't expect.

But I let him roll us, feigning surprise as he pins my arms above my head, knitting my brows.

His lip is busted already, a trickle of blood running down his chin and he sucks in the offending wound, brows drawn down. The lack of light casts his features in shadow, but the pure anger there is evident, "Sam, get the machete!"

Sam groans in response, but the sound of scrambling, slightly uneven footsteps follow the command.

Dean's hands never slack, but as soon as he looks up to see if his brother has got the blade I pull down, slamming my fists into his gut.

He grunts, and I swing his frame off of me, standing up with a grin. He follows suit, breathing a little hard.

"You hurting, Dean?"

He rolls his neck, "Not as much as you'll be when I'm done with you, sweetheart."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I say, and for a second he hesitates, eyes widening just a little bit but before he can fully analyse my response I charge, forcing him back as the curse rears its ugly head, the energy inside of me building and building. He dodges ever swipe of my claws, and I'm a little impressed, smiling through the anger filled haze that's beginning to turn the world a darker colour. Each time I swipe I pull back at the last second, just a touch, enough to avoid him.

Once the brick wall of the opposite bar meets his back however, he stops, breathing hard as he takes me in. The light shines from behind me, a dim glow from the original bar's signage, illuminating him and casting me into darkness. I take in his features, the way his sunk kissed skin shines just a little, a bead of sweat running down his temple, the way his lips are parted, breath ghosting out and clouding the air in front of his face momentarily. And the way his eyes never leave my own, shining with a determination that dares me to continue.

He's not gonna run, he's not gonna dodge left or right. He's gonna fight, and underneath the chaos that's beginning to dirty my emotions, a surge of admiration rises.

The slice of metal through air comes from behind me however, and I whirl, baring my teeth before backhanding Sam. The blow is powerful, sending him across the pavement and it's all it takes for Dean to take the offensive.

He shouts, demanding my attention and I snap back around, shoving him hard, back against the wall. He drops a knife – one that I'm assuming he's just pulled out of his jacket – the weapon clattering against the concrete, and I hit him. I hit him hard, so hard that his teeth snap together, an audible crack that echoes in the alley. And I don't stop, hitting him and hitting him as the world bleeds black – the more sounds of pain the better, the more blood the better. I don't want to stop. I can't stop. This needs to be done.

Flesh impacts flesh and an inhuman growl bubbles out of my throat.

Each blow sends him staggering, his hands rising to blow my own but it's useless, he can't stop me now even if he wanted to. His grunts of pain fuel the fire.

Blood begins to coat my hands and it just eggs me on, demanding that I continue until the light dies from his eyes.

Eyes that blink up at me now, through the blood – eyes that are such a peculiar, mesmerising shade of green. And the pain within their depths - not the physical pain, no, but something else… something entirely familiar. A look I recognise all too well, one that I adopt whenever the pain feeds the punishment that I feel like I deserve.

Everything grinds to a halt and I stop, breathing hard as I hesitate, a clawed hand raised high in the air, ready to rip out his throat. His eyes stop me dead, sapping all of the rage out of me and replacing it with something else, something that I can't quite identify.

It's only a second or two, a second of time that stretches indefinitely, until the zing of metal through the air ends it for us. The blade of the machete slices clean through my arm, just below the elbow and the limb drops to the floor.

I blink, panting, blood dripping down my frame.

A small, involuntary laugh escapes my lips as I stumble back, clutching my bicep just above the point of the cut. Pain like nothing else thrums up my arm, like lightning and acid coalescing into one formidable form of agony.

Cas stands between Dean and I, the bloody machete dripping obscenely as his eyes bore into my own. A little bit of my blood has splashed onto his trench coat and it looks absolutely awful on the tan colour, marring his professional attire, and I feel a little guilty.

It's gonna be a bitch to clean out.

"Well… Shit," I say, a little breathlessly.

His perpetually serious face never wavers, eyes glaring into my own with a viciousness that mollifies my anger just a little bit.

Dean is kneeling behind him, his face a mess. Cuts bleed freely, one eye swollen shut and his nose is broken. He's wheezing, and I know I hit him in the ribs too – they're probably broken, which means blood is most likely pooling in his lungs or his mouth, one of the two, and I stare down at the mess I've made, my throat closing up.

It's always the same, it takes over, but right now I can't blame this on anything else – I did this, my hands did this.

I wanted this, still want it.

But I don't. I don't want this.

Do I?

The witches want it – I'm indifferent. That's what I am, I'm apathetic.

Sam moves besides Cas, his stance no longer understanding, no longer kind. Eyes that were soft and inviting before have turned hard, and I don't care but I feel like I've missed out on _something_ , but that would be crazy. The cut on his cheek - a result of my hands - bleeds too, an ugly looking bruise beginning to appear beneath it.

God, what kind of sad excuse for an Assassin am I?

Feeling bad for hurting the enemy…

My arm burns as blood flows freely out of the end of it, and I glance down at the rest of it on the floor, my forearm.

Already the severed limb is turning into smoke, disappearing before our very eyes and within a few seconds it completely dissipates, and the oh so familiar tingle announces itself across the open wound. Smoke surrounds it, and the limb reforms out of the dark cloud with a fierce burn that makes my eyes water.

I straighten, eyes narrowing as the boys react too, Cas extending the machete ever so slightly.

A smile stretches my face and I look down, because it feels false. And I run.

I run away, for once I turn and haul arse out of there. I emerge onto the street, leaving the trio behind as something else, something terrifying threatens to drag me into the depths of my own thoughts, and I just carry on running.

The familiar sign of the motel I'm currently crashing in comes into view not even ten minutes later, and I practically fall into the room, breathing hard, my skin clammy as I clutch the newly reformed limb.

I collapse onto the cheap motel bed, the mattress like concrete beneath my bones and I welcome the discomfort. My arm aches, tremors of feeling returning every second, but I know I didn't run away because of the injury.

No, God no.

The injury itself is nothing compared to what I'm used to. It grows back, she made sure of that. But I don't want to think about why I ran away, so instead I curl up on my side, not even bothering to turn the light off.

I draw the thin comforter over me as the pain recedes, falling into a sleep that I know will be anything but pleasant.

It never is.

* * *

The slight difference in skin tone is barely noticeable to the untrained eye I suppose. There's no blatant separation between new skin and old skin, but still I trace the seemingly invisible jagged scar where the machete cut through my arm.

The lower half of my arm seems a little paler to me, the upper part is still a little tanned from my brief encounters with the sun over the last few weeks. Apparently I absorb vitamin D like nothing else.

"- Patricia saw him after what you did, and they all seem to be satisfied with the result," Sadie continues, although for the life of me I cannot remember what she's just said, so I look up from my bare arm briefly, nodding before focusing on the healed wound again.

There's no bump, no raised line where it was severed, but I just cannot seem to ignore it. The area demands my attention, tingling whenever I look away.

But this is nothing new. It's like this every time I lose a limb, the reformed part never feels quite right for a few weeks afterwards.

I don't know why, maybe it's because the ligaments and tendons need to toughened up a little, stretched out and worked, but I'm no doctor so what do I know.

Sadie huffs, "For Gods sake, there's nothing there! You can't even tell!"

I wrinkle my nose, looking away before tracing the area again.

Sadie flexes her fingers, the bandages around the broken ones looking a little ratty, "Listen, I know they cut your arm off and I'm sure that sucks," She ignores my sardonic glare, "But maybe now you'll begin to truly appreciate just how dangerous they really are."

I snort, "Sure, okay."

Not going to tell her my own hesitation was probably the cause of the arm injury, then.

"This is good, though – not your whole 'arm' thing, but we're finally making progress with them," she takes a sip from a glass of wine, a cheap wine that smells bitter from over here.

In the darkened study room, the glow from the lamps only offer the barest hints of the bags beneath her eyes. It looks like our Sadie is having trouble sleeping, which is no surprise, so I'm not exactly astonished by her newfound love for alcohol.

Despite her attempts to reassure herself that all is well with the wicked witches of the west, I can tell just by looking at her that this is not the case.

Apparently one of their little informants, Patricia saw Dean and the other two shortly after my departure, and she rang Sadie almost immediately who then proceeded to ring me and demand an audience. So after sleeping for an hour or two, I dragged myself over to their hideout.

"Now that they're injured, we can start working on our other plans," Sadie says, motioning Agatha in. The older woman approaches us with slow, cautious steps from the doorway, her eyes never leaving my frame and I narrow my own at her. She swallows in response, moving to stand beside Sadie.

"She's here," she says, and Sadie nods.

"Great, tell her to come down whenever she's ready. I'm dying to show her Eve."

Oh, so I'm some kind of show dog, now?

I raise a lip as Agatha leaves the room, but I refrain from responding, instead focusing on my arm once again. The heat from the fireplace chases away the goose bumps that randomly chase across my skin, more so than ever now, but my body still itches. An itch that I can't scratch with my nails.

The encounter with Dean has left me confused. Although the whole point of this is to ensure he dies, I didn't want to take it as far as I did tonight. I didn't want to lose control.

When I lose control it's the beginning of the end, really. The curse is closing in, my own body is beginning to defy my thoughts, my wants. Everything feels a little off kilter, like something isn't quite right, and I chew the skin on the side of my thumb.

To be completely honest I don't know why I'm fighting any of this. I don't know why I ever do. It all ends up the same way.

When I've had to kill others in the past, I fought it. The aches and the pains, the inability to ignore the thoughts that bleed into my consciousness? It's all a very familiar process.

So why bother fighting it again?

Stubbornness?

If I just accept it, just switch off from the world and allow the curse to take over, let is use my body as a conduit for those who possess the ring…

But isn't that what I've already done?

A long time ago I wouldn't've been able to even stomach the thought of tearing out someone's throat or breaking their neck, but now I can do it without blinking.

Have I not already accepted the curse?

So what does that make me?

Dean was right.

"Evelyn?" Sadie leans against her desk, eyes a little wide.

"Hmm?"

"Did you ignore me again?"

I don't answer and she scowls, but as she crosses her arms she stops, her eyes landing on her hand.

"I knew you were close to killing him."

I lean forwards a little bit, "How?"

She turns the infamous ring on her finger, eyes still downcast, "This… the ring started glowing, it started burning, so hot that I thought it would burn straight through my finger."

I swallow.

Wow.

Holy shit. She's right. I was close to killing him. So fucking close.

The ring only does that when the contract is complete. It glows, growing hot until it brands itself permanently into the wearer's skin, announcing the completion of the contract. It's half the reason why someone can't just rip the ring off of her finger in the first place. Cutting her finger off or stealing the ring will do nothing.

"It stopped burning all of a sudden, though," she continues, "Like, it went ice cold," she looks up at me, brows knitting together.

I shrug, leaning back as my chest tightens.

God, I'm so fucking dumb. I could've reset the ring, could've been a slave to them for an entirely different reason all because I couldn't control myself.

"Next time don't stop," she finally says, and Agatha chooses this moment to return.

The older woman steps into the room, holding the door open and I turn, brows furrowed as a frail looking girl enters the room. The door closes softly behind them.

She looks like she's just stepped out of library, with mousy brown hair that's falling out of her low ponytail. She doesn't meet my eyes as Agatha forces her forwards.

"Eve, this is Elli, my sister," Sadie says, motioning towards the girl.

I stand, raising a brow before nodding her way, not wanting to be impolite. But now that the introductions are done with…

"Well, if we're all done here," I say, offering the new girl a tight smile as I head to the door.

"Wait – God, just wait. Why do you always walk off?"

I shrug, stopping just before the door, turning towards them, "Because I have things to do, places to be, sights to see... You get the idea. And this room smells like old people."

Agatha harrumphs, but I see the subtle flick of her head towards her armpit. I fight the grin that's trying really hard to take over my face.

"The reason why Elli is here," Sadie says, moving to stand beside her, "Is because she's going to be keeping a close eye on you, whilst we're busy with our… lives. She'll be the one watching you for us, giving us updates on your progress."

I laugh, "Wait, what? Is this a joke?"

Agatha shakes her head, "No, not at all. We can't keep running after you, and we want this whole debacle with the Winchesters to be over with as soon as possible," nobody misses the subtle glare she throws Sadie's way, "So we can use you for better, more useful things."

"No thanks, I think I'll pass on the babysitter," I say, raising a lip.

Sadie glares my way, "It's not a choice. We need to keep in touch, we need to make sure you're doing what we want you to do."

I scoff, "I thought we already covered this."

"No, you decided to break my fingers. We didn't cover this at all."

Fair.

Still, what she's suggesting is dumb. The girl will definitely not be able to keep up with me.

"She'll get herself killed if she comes anywhere with _or_ near me," I say, motioning to her. She blinks through her glasses, lips pressing into a thin line.

"She won't be going anywhere with you," Agatha says, resting a hand on the girls cardigan clad shoulder, "She's more… behind the scenes. She's a bit of a tech guru, so if you need anything she can probably get you it without the need of our powers. Plus she can relay our messages to you, considering our relationship with you is strained, at best. We have other things to do, stuff to get ready, and the sooner you get rid of the Winchesters, the sooner you can join us."

I stop myself from snorting - instead I eye the new girl.

There's no use in arguing, I can already tell they've made their minds up about it, so I sigh, looking away as I put my hands on my hips. I'm becoming entirely too agreeable, nowadays.

"Whatever, just don't have her hassling me, I've got enough shit to deal with already."

"Like what?" Sadie snaps, "Besides killing-"

"-The Winchesters. God you guys are like a broken record, you know that," I snap.

"But what else do you have to deal with? What else do you have to do?"

I shrug, "Nothing that concerns you."

Sadie shakes her head but Agatha steps in, eyes frosty, "Elli already has your number and your details, and she already has information on our next task for you. This isn't up for negotiation."

Since when did the witches become my parents?

And they're bringing up the side jobs again, which is great. Not.

I cross my arms, glaring at the trio.

"Just a few errands, nothing that will truly distract you from your… procrastination," Agatha raises her lip at the word, and I smile.

"Good."

My time is not exactly precious, despite what I'd like to believe, especially considering the fact that I have no idea what to do with myself when I'm not stalking the Winchesters.

But I'm taking Sadie's approval of my actions as approval for a well-earned week off from all of this, whether she knows it or not. The boys won't be expecting another hit so soon, and they could definitely use the time to recover. Maybe then the fight will be a little bit fairer.

But the rising temptation to hurt is still there, despite my insistence on a holiday. It's a real problem, whether I want to face it or not, and there's only one real thing that helps when I hit this stage.

I need to hunt, I need to hurt something. And the Winchesters are inspiring me, considering their career choice. Hunting monsters doesn't seem like a bad idea, it's definitely better than going out and killing some random bystander.

No.

A demon will do.

They're like cattle, prowling the night waiting to be slaughtered, and it doesn't weigh on my conscience as much. And that case with the Wendigo was actually kind of fun, in a sick, weird kind of way. So demon hunting it is.

It's only a temporary fix, like a junkie taking something weak till the next big hit comes, but it helps. I get to keep my mind for a little bit longer, delaying the inevitable even if it's only for a few weeks, maybe even a few months if I'm really lucky.

I bid the witches goodbye, ignoring their attempts to force me to stay to listen to more of their lectures by outright just walking out of the door. They stop when I suggest that they get Elli to relay their messages to me.

Because now I have something to do, now I have a little plan of my own in place.


	8. Chapter 7: Red Stains the Soul

**Hi again!**

 **New chapter, sorry for the wait!**

 **Thanks for the review again! I'm not sure if any of you feel comfortable with me mentioning you here, but if you do then i will do next time! I appreciate every word :D**

 **Hope you had a good new year, and I hope you like the new chapter! Let me know :)**

 **(I've just reached season 10 of superantural guys and oh my god I'm loving it so far, demon Dean kills me. I've tried to ensure everything here is accurate, what with all my references to lore about demons and stuff, but if it isnt let me know)**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

7: Red Stains the Soul

"What are you doing?"

I swing the puck lightly, tapping the tiny golf ball and it cruises down the light green pathway. The ball edges around the windmill before dropping into the hole behind it with a plastic sounding thump.

"Mini golf," I say, placing the phone next to my ear again.

There's a large sigh on the other end of the line, and I grin as I clamber over the course to the next hole. So far I've managed to fucking slaughter every single golf course in this park, and my winning streak is just growing.

I shouldn't be so happy about it, but honestly it's the only thing in this world that seems to be going right for me right now.

The sun beats down on my back as I line up for the next shot, a hole that's barricaded by clown figurines on all sides. It's rather creepy looking, what with the long, over exaggerated faces, but I ignore them. They won't distract me, for I am Zen right now.

I hit the ball, following its progression as it rolls up into a clown's mouth, only to be spit out by the one adjacent to it.

I bite back my curse, aware of the children currently running riot around the place.

"I thought you were going demon hunting," Elli says, her voice quiet and cutting.

I shoulder the phone, swinging the puck again and cursing out loud this time as it misses the clowns altogether.

"I am," I reply, manoeuvring over to the ball. It doesn't go into the clown's mouth again, instead it cruises right on by before clinking against the edge of the tiny green.

I pull the phone away, looking up as I grind my teeth before returning to the call.

If this round ruins my good score I will murder someone.

"Doesn't sound like it," Elli mutters.

"Good job I didn't ask for your opinion then, isn't it?"

There's a huffing sound, and the girl really reminds of me Agatha rather than Sadie, surprisingly.

I tap the ball again, clenching the puck tightly as the ball enters the clown's mouth once more, only to be spit out again, a tinny laugh coming from a tiny speaker seconds later.

"Fuck this," I snap, and I swing the club into the clown figurines. They break in half immediately, sparks spitting into the air and I throw the putter to the ground, grumbling obscenities as I stalk past the group of parents currently clutching their kids to their sides.

I scowl their way as they eye me.

"Well, whilst you've been playing, uh, mini golf - I've been searching the local news sights for any unusual activity in your area."

I stop at a shooting game stall, far enough away from the mini golf area to not attract suspicion. Admittedly breaking the thing was a dumb move, but I have no money so I'm not paying to fix it, I wouldn't even if I had. But I can waste what little money I have on trying to win a stuffed teddy bear, because they do look adorable.

I hand the stall owner my money, taking the gun, "And?"

"It definitely looks like something is going on, all the usual ill omen signs are there, and a few mysterious deaths of incredibly lucrative people have started to spring up. Someone also just won the lottery there, so…"

I aim, closing one eye as the target begins to move, shouldering the phone once more, "So it's a crossroads demon?"

"Probably, or the town is just _very_ lucky."

I shoot, missing, "Unlikely. Do the people have anything in common?"

There's a shuffling sound on the other end of the call, and I use the opportunity to shoot again. It hits the outer ring, but it's still nowhere near the centre. The stall owner grunts, covering his laugh and I glare at him before returning to the sight.

God, I'm bad at this. Shooting is obviously not my forte.

Which reminds me, I still have Dean's gun stowed away. Maybe I should give it back to him soon, it would be a perfect excuse to turn up unannounced, and it will definitely and most importantly deter the witches with their incessant need to contact me.

"Yeah, they all visited or were patients at the local hospital around ten years ago. And the most recent ones have been patients there within the last week or so."

I shoot again, missing again. Before I can break the gun too I hand it back over to the guy, scowling.

"Okay, send me the address of the hospital. If it isn't already skulking around there and praying on the vulnerable, I should be able to summon it if there's a crossroads nearby."

"No problem," Elli says.

I pause, feeling awkward but the need to be polite wins out, "And thank you. For your help."

There's a few seconds of silence before she replies, coughing before she does, "Uh… It's uh, I mean you're welcome."

We end the call, a sour taste in my mouth. Not even thirty seconds later a text pops up on my phone. At least she's fast.

The address doesn't seem too far away, but considering just how busy hospitals are during the day I'm going to assume the demon will probably make its move during the night, when people are alone and nobody's allowed in for visiting.

So I head back to the motel, gathering up everything that I need for tonight, ignoring the niggling thoughts that keep creeping their way to the forefront of my mind, suggesting I head back to Lebanon. Dean's face begins to play like a broken record through my brain, but I ignore that too.

Denial is the best state to live in, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I will not lose control just yet.

* * *

The hospital stands tall, like a white beacon of hope in the darkness, but as I enter the place through the slightly chaotic emergency room, the unnatural sense of dread that clings to the walls is tangible.

There's definitely a demon here, I can smell the sulphur. They're already dirtying up the atmosphere, and I stick to the walls as I head past the A&E, waiting for the staffs backs to turn as I follow the scent deeper into the hospital.

I pass a few signs labelling up the different departments, keeping my head low as I go. Despite the abundance of personnel in these areas none really question my presence, but I don't give them chance to. They look, glance my way, but I'm moving on quickly before they truly clock my presence, my footsteps quiet.

Each time a set of eyes linger on me for too long I move on, the smell of sulphur growing as I go. Although indiscernible to the average nose, my past means that I can detect the scent like a blood hound, it is _that_ ingrained into my senses.

But the deeper I go, the more people begin to notice, a few nurses walking past before stopping and turning my way. I round corners to avoid their stares, hoping they don't follow, and I run straight into a corridor revealing a changing room. An idea forms and I enter it before I'm spotted again.

Lockers line the walls, all mostly open. It's probably because of the fact that only night shift are on tonight, but I spot what I need in the far corner.

The few spare nursing uniforms sit folded up neatly on a table, and I pick through them.

Finding my size is a little hard – I'm a little too tall for the bottoms and the top doesn't exactly fit over my chest, despite being way too baggy in the stomach, but it will have to do.

I move with ease through the place now, still keeping my head low. No need to tempt fate here, especially if any of the tired staff decide to look at my face a little too closely.

Of course I'm not surprised when I come across an intensive care unit and the smell of sulphur intensifies tenfold.

Dean's scent intermingles with the sulphur all of a sudden, chasing the scent away and I blink, stepping back.

He isn't here, I know he isn't.

I shake my head, and after a few seconds his scent disappears. I swallow the lump in my throat as I push through the doors.

The ICU is relatively quiet, but I doubt the place would be very loud anyway, considering the severity of cases here. Staff linger at the few desks that dot the winding, wideset hallways, either tapping away on their computers or reviewing files. A few nurses are making their rounds, and I stick to the shadows until they pass, avoiding the eye line of those at the desks.

I pick up a file anyway on my walk down the hallway, opening it up so it looks like I'm at least doing something productive here, and not just wandering aimlessly through the place.

The smell of sulphur positively bleeds out of one particular door and I stop just outside of it, breathing in deep.

Oh yeah, the demon is in here.

I peer through the small window, not at all surprised by the scene before me.

A man is laid down in the hospital bed, covered in all sorts of wires and tubes, a mask covering half of his face as a machine helps him breathe, and perched on the end of the bed is a brunette who looks like she's just walked out a cocktail bar.

Besides her is a young guy, looks to be no older than eighteen. His face is as white as a sheet, and he looks almost as ill as the guy in the bed.

Who wants to bet that the young dude is about to give up his soul for the old guy circling the drain?

I push through the door, wasting no more time and the two look up at me, startled.

"What – Who are you? I don't… I don't recognise you," the guy says a little shakily, his eyes flickering from my own to the woman's on the bed.

"There's not supposed to be any visitors or nurses here for at least another hour," the woman continues, her features tightening as she focuses on me.

"It's a good job I'm neither then, isn't it?"

"But… There's no British nurses on this ward," the guy says, shaking his head, "I know all of the nurses here and-"

I shrug, but he continues regardless.

"Listen, I know I'm not supposed to be here… and – and I definitely know I'm not supposed to bring anyone else, but she – I found her in here earlier on, and she says she can help," he looks at the woman as she stands, and she smiles in response. I suppose it's supposed to be a comforting smile, but to me it just looks condescending, almost patronising.

"She said she can make him better, and I know he's bad – they've told me how bad it is. I'm not stupid, I know, okay? But I have to try something, right?" his voice cracks towards the end, "You understand, don't you?"

Tears form in his eyes, and I want to look away, because I can see his desperation, see his need for some kind of miracle, even if it comes from a goddamn demon. He's explaining himself to me of all people, for God's sake. If I had a heart, it would sorta break for him.

"She's not here to help," I say, voice low, eyes never leaving his own, "She's here to manipulate you in to giving up something good, to cause more pain."

He shakes his head, tears falling freely now, "I know what she wants, but it's worth it."

I turn to the woman in question. She's been scrutinising me for a while now, eyes squinting hard beneath the heavy eye makeup and a slow smile creeps onto my face as her eyes flash red, "You!"

I laugh, "Oh, so you do recognise me?"

She stumbles back, heels clacking against the linoleum floor, "This is impossible – You're dead! You're not… how?"

I shrug, throwing the file still in my hands onto a cabinet near the door, "If you'd have payed attention in demon history class," I say, stepping forwards – she lunges back in response – "Then you would've known that you can't kill me," I open my palms out, cocking my head to the side.

She shakes her head, glancing to all of the exits in the room, "No, fuck this, I want no part of this now."

The guy looks ready to vomit, his mouth falling open as she stands bolt upright.

"Oh no you don't," I snarl, and I dissipate, appearing besides her in a cloud of dark, smoky wisps, "You're not running away to tell daddy."

My hands turn dark, becoming ethereal as I gather up that ball of energy inside of my chest, focusing it in the limb. It's like channelling a tsunami, and without further ado I send my clawed hand deep into her sternum, bypassing flesh and muscle and everything physical.

She jerks, her red eyes falling on mine as her mouth falls open, her hands curling into claws at her sides. The pain must be something else, I've been told before that it's like someone yanking around on your spine, and I can feel the darkness inside of the woman. The demonic presence is like a parasite, latching onto her own soul, a poor deformed imitation of it, clinging onto the vessel. And I close my fist around the mass.

Her entire body stiffens, a gurgled groan spilling from her lips as blood begins to come up too.

And I crush it fast, the twisted soul; a flick of the wrist that ensures her end. Her skeleton flashes beneath her skin, flickering as bones become visible for just a moment, and the demon barely manages a gasp before she's dead.

I yank my hand out, grimacing as the woman sags to the floor, blinking but still very much alive.

"What did you do?" the guy behind me whispers, and I turn, brows furrowed, "What did you do to her?!"

I glance towards the door, all too aware of the fact that we still have company, "I stopped you from making a _very_ stupid decision."

He shakes his head, "No – No! That wasn't for you to decide, I choose what to do with my… my-"

"- Your soul?" I say, brows rising, "Just the very thing that makes you who you are, the only thing that stays with you for eternity?"

He runs a hand through his hair, a strangled sound leaving his mouth as his eyes fall on the man in the bed.

I want to leave, I've never been good with emotions. People who cry tend to feel worse after I've spoken to them, but for some weird, stupid reason I feel like I need to explain myself, to make him see why it was necessary.

So I glance towards the man in the bed, "Who is he to you?"

He sniffs, lips pressing into a thin line before he replies, "My dad," it comes out a whisper.

I step closer to him, still looking at the guy in the bed. He looks fairly old, and he definitely looks like he's on deaths door. All the machines are still whirring away, keeping him alive, and the sight is something else.

"Do you think your dad would want this?" I say, finally looking up at his son, "Do you think he would want you to sell your soul for him? For what, another twenty years of life at best? Knowing that his son is going to die in ten as a result?"

He blinks, looking up as his eyes fill up again.

"They're not saints, those things," I say, motioning towards the woman on the floor. She still looks a little out of it, "They're not angels sent from above. They're demons for a reason. And you're soul is worth a hell of a lot more than anything they can ever offer, even if it is to save your father. It's not worth spending an eternity in hell on the off chance that your father survives the next twenty years or so.

"He wouldn't want this… he'd want you to live your life," I finish, swallowing.

There's a long, heavy silence as he digests my words, and once again I wonder why I'm still even here.

"I know," he finally says, "I know that… it's just hard. Watching someone you love die, it's something else."

I nod, because nothing I can say will make it any easier, I know all too well what he is saying, "But you have others that can help."

I pat his hand a little awkwardly, and he nods, his mouth pulling up a little at the corners.

"You know, you're right. He would've knocked me upside the head if he found out I'd done something like that."

I smile, I can't help it, "You'll be okay," I say, stepping around him. As I reach the door I stop, hand on the door handle, "You will be."

I look back, and the guy moves closer to his dad's bed, barely acknowledging the woman as she stands, wobbling a little. She stumbles my way, blinking as she clutches her head. I open the door for her, watching as she stumbles down the hallway.

"Don't let them trick you into thinking this is the right thing to do," I say, looking back one more time. He glances up, nodding, and I take that as my que to leave.

What more can I do?

Hopefully he listens, but at the end of the day it's his life, his soul. At least I've killed the bitch, effectively getting rid of the temptation. My job is done.

I round the corner of the hospital ward, stopping short when Dean's bow legged frame comes into view. He's standing at the desk, or rather, he's towering over it, reading something. There's no Sam in sight, and his scent engulfs me.

Fresh like the night air.

I can't breathe, and I stumble back, right into someone.

They catch me and I whirl, putting a foot of distance between us as my skin itches something crazy. The nurse looks up at me, a frown marring her features, "Are you okay?"

I nod a little too quickly, breathing hard before swallowing, "Um, yes, yeah, I'm-"

"Hey, I don't recognise you… are you new here?"

I nod again, feeling like a bobble head as I glance towards the desk again. Instead of Dean, a completely different guy in scrubs is standing in the exact same position, his head bent over some files.

"Yeah, sorry – I've just finished my shift, I'm uh, I'm just leaving."

She nods a little slowly, and if her stern face is anything to go by I'm going to guess that I've got less than ten seconds before she sees right through my façade, so I duck my head as I scuttle away, but I can't help it - I keep looking back towards the desk.

It's definitely not Dean.

He isn't here.

I march through the hospital, breathing through my mouth. There's no way in hell I'm going to come across his scent again.

When I emerge onto the pavement outside my phone rings, and I jump about three feet before I fish out my phone.

"What?" I snap, looking around. Thankfully nobody saw my blunder, and I head in the opposite direction of the hospital. The night air should do me some good.

"Someone's in a good mood," Elli says, and I roll my eyes.

"What do you want?"

"I just called to see if everything went okay."

Weird, "Yes, it's fine. The demon is dead, so you can leave me alone now."

She snorts, "Yeah I know, I saw the whole thing through one of the cameras in the hospital. Did you know they have the whole place set up with surveillance? It's kind of weird actually, but it-"

"As fascinating as this conversation is, Elli, I'm going to have to end the call."

I don't have time to entertain her little talk, I'm far too angsty. The kill hasn't helped that much at all, if anything it's seems to have made it worse. Maybe I need to nap it off.

She huffs before replying, "Wait, before you go…"

I wait, rolling my eyes as the silence extends, "What?"

"I didn't know you could um… you know, kill demons that way. We didn't know you could do that."

I don't reply. I don't want the witches to know the extent of my abilities, and Elli takes the hint.

"Okay, okay, I'll go. But Sadie wants you back - now that she knows how lethal you are to demons she wants you to get something."

"Well 'I want never gets'," I say, "Remind her that once again, I'm not her personal attack dog… or her personal courier service."

"Roger that," Elli says, "See you shortly, Eve."

She ends the call, and I groan.

I fucking hate witches.


	9. Chapter 8: Blue Warnings

**Hey guys!**

 **I'm so sorry this took so long, it was exams week the last two weeks and I just haven't had the time to edit and flesh out this chapter.**

 **I had this written before hand, but it seriously needed some editing, and even now I'm not sure if I'm truly happy with it.**

 **So I'm sorry it's been like, a week and a half since the last update, and I hope a little appearance from everyones favourite angel will make up for it! :D**

 **Let me know what you think, even if you hate it and it sounds/reads like a pile of shit :) I still make typos or miss an error despite reading through and editing this stuff time and time again!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

8: Blue Warnings

How did I get here again?

What dragged me to the middle of a cemetery in the middle of the night?

Oh yeah, that's right. Sadie is behind this.

She's the reason behind why I have to huddle deeper into my jacket.

The cold is formidable tonight, the tiles of the small mausoleum roof bleeding directly through my jeans, sapping away all remnants of heat. My breath clouds the air in front of my face with each exhale, and it's all because of her.

Seems about right though, I mean, when have I ever not been forced into something?

Despite my initial and continuous refusal to do anything except kill Dean, and even then I'm sort of refusing slash delaying that, Sadie insisted on going old school again, starting up with the sacrifices.

Before I could have ignored them, but now it's a completely different story. All she's doing is hooking on more strings to her personal marionette bar, the puppet – me. And the insane need to conform to the curse and finally end Dean's life means that my self-control is at an all-time low, and Sadie is using this to her full advantage.

Thus, the dead bunnies and squirrels ensure my obedience for the time being, and the cemetery mocks me as I glare into the darkness. I'm too tired to fight her small demands, I'm spending all of my time fighting the big one.

I yawn rather obscenely, as if to punctuate the fact. Guess I'm mentally _and_ physically drained. It's no surprise, I'm approaching two days without sleep now. How time flies when you're not having any fun at all.

The other two witches - the ones who need my help - stand in a clearing not too far from my position, shifting uncomfortably as they scan the area. A few torches have been lit to illuminate their surroundings, but shadows loom beyond the circle of light they provide, and if I could leave my post I would – just so I could fuck with them. I bet all I would have to do is say 'boo' and they'd run for the hills. They look on edge, and I grin despite the cold.

My job is simple; make sure the exchange goes smoothly, don't let them die, blah blah blah.

I have half a mind to just get up and walk out of here, but then how many more little animals need to be sacrificed because I'm being stubborn? How many aches and pains need to thrum through my body before I just throw in the towel and do what she wants?

I straighten the moment the demons enter the cemetery, leaning forwards and resting my elbows on my knees. I'm high enough to be out of view, but low enough and close enough to make a quick entrance if necessary. Which hopefully it won't be.

Two demons stroll down the rural walkway, their eyes set on the witches as they approach. They're moving almost leisurely, and I know they're up to no good almost immediately. The grins on their faces only serve to support the suspicion, and I narrow my eyes.

Yeah, they're definitely going to try something, and why wouldn't they? It's in their nature, after all. And it's half the reason why I despise them almost as much as the witches. They're chaotic, unsympathetic, and will screw over their own kind if it gets them anywhere. Every single demon I've encountered has been abhorrent, despite working for them at one point in my life.

So I'm definitely going to have to move at some point tonight, it's a given.

Sighing, I focus on the four as they finally meet, tuning into their conversation.

"You're late." Patricia? – I think her name is Patricia, the one who keeps snooping into my business – says, folding her arms. Her hands shake a little.

"We came, didn't we?" the demon with dark hair replies.

"Have you got it?" the other witch says, but for the life of me I don't know what her name is. I swear it's something like Alex. She's not as obvious as Patricia, the only signs of nervousness coming from her is the way her eyes keep flickering to where I am, and I want to yell at her to knock it off.

The other taller demon grins, pulling a medium sized flat box out of his long, dark jacket. He shakes the box in question, producing a little rattle, "Of course we did. Now, your turn."

The two witches waver, and I lean a little closer as they share a look. What could they possibly have that the demons want?

When we left the car earlier, they insisted that I carry a sack out of the back of the car to the site, refusing to handle the bag themselves. It rattled oddly, like something hollow yet wooden was in there, but to be honest I was still partaking in the role of unwilling travel partner to really investigate the bag any further.

Patricia hefts the bag forwards, dropping it with a clatter.

The dark haired demon steps forwards after his friend gives him a nod, opening the bag as the two witches lean back a little. They look pale as the demon rifles through it, and I refrain from rolling my eyes as they flinch when something drops in the bag.

It's obvious that some of the witches in their clan are in way over their heads. I bet some of them joined to conjure up simple stuff, like love potions or to gain a promotion at work, and then all of a sudden they're standing in cemeteries in the middle of the night, conversing with honest to God demons.

Bet their horoscopes never predicted that.

Whatever is in the bag seems to satisfy the demon, because he nods at the other one before hefting the sack over his shoulder.

"Okay, now the necklace…" Patricia says, holding out a hand.

I look up at the stars as the scene plays out exactly as I would expect. Both of the demons' eyes flash black.

"Nah, I think we're gonna keep it. But thanks for the bones – our boss is gonna be real happy with us now, sweetcheeks."

Of course they were going to keep it. Why would they hand over the goods when the witches literally gave them what they wanted without a fuss, or without at least insisting the exchange occurs simultaneously?

Patricia looks like she's about to be sick, "Wait! We had a deal?!"

Dark haired shrugs, "Deals off, honey."

"You'll regret this," 'Alex' hisses, and when she casts her eyes my way I take that as my que to step in, hopping down from my perch on the roof, the overgrown grass softening the landing.

I dematerialise, appearing behind the demons a second later in a cloud of smoke.

The two obviously haven't clocked my presence yet, and they laugh.

"Oh yeah, and why's that huh?"

I send my clawed, ethereal hand through the tall ones back, gripping the front of his throat with my other hand and yanking him back as he gags, breathing in sharply.

"Because I'm here," I say, a low purr and I snap my wrist sharply to the right, twisting the deformed soul. His skeleton flickers, a moan escaping his lips before he's dead, and I drop the body to the floor.

His friend blinks, mouth open as recognition floods his features.

"You!" he gasps, but he's a little too fast for me. Dark, slender smoke erupts from his mouth and I curse, lunging his way but the smoke just filters through my hand, disappearing into the night.

"Fuck!" I snarl, booting the fallen body of his dead demon friend. Clearly the demon had a lot of fun with it, because the guy – the vessel – is long dead.

The other demon is probably hauling arse back to hell though, or at least to another vessel, and I bet the first thing he's going to do is call daddy and tell him all about my little appearance here.

Which is great.

Exhaustion sweeps through my body rather abruptly, robbing me of strength as my eyelids grow even heavier, only serving to further heighten my anger.

I glare at the two witches, picking up the fallen box with the necklace in and throwing it their way. Patricia catches it, hands flailing. I would take it for myself, but I honestly couldn't give two fucks about the necklace at the moment.

"This is just fucking great," I snap, shoving the other guy out of the way. He's still alive, although for how long I don't know. He looks like he's on the verge of collapse, his breaths choppy and wet. With the demon long gone, he's probably got hours left if that. It's what happens when a demon rides your arse for too long.

"Why did you just hand over the bag without taking the necklace first?" I hiss, waving a hand towards the box, "I mean, are you both that stupid?"

Patricia blinks, glancing towards Alex before looking at me again, "We thought – We uh, we assumed they'd just like, hand it over or something afterwards?"

I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose, "So you're just fucking dumb, then? Why would you believe a demon would stick to its word? And now our little friend is probably high tailing it back to home turf right now, ready to tell everyone that I'm back."

"And?" Alex says, eyes narrowing, "That's not our fault, it's your fault for not killing him fast enough!"

I laugh, a short burst that escapes my lips, "Oh, really? Sure doesn't seem that way considering you both can't handle a simple swap – the only reason I had to step in at all is because you were too dumb to realise they were going to screw you over."

They both glare at me and I shake my head, "You know what? I'm done. Take your shit back to Sadie and tell her not to bother me for a while."

Patricia shakes her head, "Nope, she said she wanted you back after this went down."

"Why?"

They shrug simultaneously, and I hold in a groan. What could she possibly want now?

Rather than argue, I heft the bag of bones up, raising a brow as curiosity gets the better of me, "Why the bones, anyway?"

Patricia leads the way back to their car, shining a flashlight ahead of us, "Demon bones are valuable to demons. They don't like it if you have their bones - their original bones."

"How come?"

"Burn the bones, kill the demon."

"Huh," I say. Interesting.

It's a short trip back to the witches' house, and I follow the two women into Sadie's office, not surprised to find Sadie nursing a glass of wine alongside Agatha. She barely glances my way as they hand the box over, and she quickly opens it.

"Oh, thank God," she mutters, pulling out the necklace.

It looks old fashioned, something that you would find in an antique store collecting dust, or in a museum for worthless but old things. No shiny jewels gleam out of it, just intricate designs carved into the thick metal work.

"And you still have the bones, too," she continues, voice raising a little as I drop the aforementioned bag onto her desk.

Agatha inspects the bag, face pulling down as she leans away, "Disgusting. Why'd you have to bring that in here?"

I shrug, "Where else did you want me to put it, your highness?"

She scowls my way but otherwise doesn't comment, and the girls quickly fill them in on what went down. Sadie nods dutifully, but when they mention the fact that one got away Agatha is the one to react.

"You mean one of them escaped?"

Patricia nods, rubbing her arm, "Well… yeah, I mean, they tried to double cross us or whatever, and Evelyn had to step in."

I cringe as she says my name, but I refrain from commenting.

Sadie and Agatha glance at one another, and I'm a little pleased by the fact that they look pissed, too.

"Why did she even have to step in in the first place? The exchange alone should have sufficed, the demons wanted the bones and we wanted the necklace…"

"They refused to give us the necklace," Alex says, looking down, blonde hair shielding her face, "We had to get her to jump in."

Agatha doesn't look convinced but she waves them away regardless. As I move to leave as well she stops me.

"Wait, Eve."

I sigh, "What?"

"Has E-"

My phone rings, interrupting her and I hold up a finger, fishing it out of my pocket. Elli's name flashes up on the screen and I show them the ID before taking the call, that way they know it's one of their own interrupting their speech rather than some random person. Not that I truly care, anyway. It could be a telemarketer and I would still take the call.

"Hello?"

"Eve, it's Elli."

It's like she doesn't know I have caller ID. Come on now, I'm supposed to be the technologically impaired one here.

"Sorry, I was supposed to call you earlier but something got in the way. Have you spoken to Sadie yet?"

I look up and Agatha crosses her arms, mouth pressing into a thin line as Sadie huffs, looking away.

"Uh, yeah. I'm with her now."

"Oh… shit, okay, does she look mad?"

"When does she not?"

There's a brief laugh, "Okay, fair point. Listen, it's just to let you know that the next job on the list for you is ready to start whenever you are. I've reserved a room for you at a motel not far from town, and-"

"Wait," I laugh, "Hold on. You mean to tell me they want me to go onto another 'job' straight away?" I glare pointedly at the two witches and they scowl in response.

"Yeah, sorry. Don't shoot the messenger… or the organiser."

I breathe out slowly, far too tired to argue, "Okay, whatever. Just… I don't know, text me or something, I've got to go."

I end the call, pressing my lips together as I face them again, "You've got to be taking the piss."

Sadie shakes her head, "You've barely done anything for us since we awakened you. We're using you like your mo-"

My eyes flash dark almost involuntarily, and Sadie catches herself as the black bleeds onto my face.

"We're uh, we're just using everything you've got to give us, and we know that sooner or later you're going to kill Dean, and the longer you wait the harder it is to ignore. And the easier it is to control you."

"Well," I say, curling a lip, "Aren't you forthcoming tonight?" The sharpness of my vision disappears as I clamp down on my anger.

"Well there's no point in denying it. We know, we can see it," she snaps, waving a hand towards me and I raise a brow, "It's nothing major, anyway, the job is quite easy to be honest."

"Of course it is," I scoff, "I mean, they've all been five minute jobs so far, right? Surely my time is - once again - better spent on the Winchesters?"

God, this must be the sixth time we've had this conversation. It's getting old. Sadie tries to force me to do things, I refuse, I relent. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Agatha glances towards Sadie, "She has a point. The elders are still not pleased with your use of Eve so far, and these little tasks are delaying her further."

Sadie throws up her hands, "Well what do you want me to do then? I have all of the other girls wanting favours left right and centre, and you know the next job is necessary!"

Agatha looks down, and I glance between the two, watching the exchange. It seems like Agatha is leaning towards my argument, but when she looks up her gaze is absolute.

"True. What we need you to do next, Eve, is important. More so than the other things we've asked for."

"I'm sure it is," I snap, just as my phone buzzes. It's an address of a motel not too far out of town. Elli doesn't waste any time.

"One of our own is selling our things," Agatha says, waving a hand towards the necklace still laying on the desk, "Hence why we had to get this back tonight. She's taking very powerful artefacts and trading them with demons, for what we don't know, but we need you to put a stop to it."

I frown, "And why can't you do it?"

"She'd sense us coming," Sadie says, "She doesn't know who you are yet, not fully, anyway. She knows we have you under our control, but she hasn't seen your face. Besides, we have more important things to do."

Oh, I'm sure they do. Rather than argue once again, I back down. They let me go once I agree to it, and they tell me that Elli will provide me with the rest of the details. In the meantime I head to the motel Elli rented out for the next few nights, my body aching for some rest. I'm not sure if my accommodating nature is because I'm tired tonight, or if it's just because I'm beyond caring anymore.

The room isn't too shabby in the motel, and I collapse onto the bed the moment I step into the room.

I fight sleep for a while, staring into the darkness, headlights occasionally illuminating the cheap wallpaper that adorns the wall. My body begs to go under, but in this frame of mind I just can't quite let go yet. Because I know what awaits me when I do go over, and I'm not scared, I'm just too tired to bother with it.

Which is laughable, really. Too tired to deal with sleep.

But eventually my body wins out, and with a regretful sigh I fall into a dream filled sleep, not at all surprised to see the Winchesters there.

* * *

Motel showers suck arse, they really do.

And I'm seriously running out of clothes. I need to pay another visit to a cash machine, draw out a chunk of money from one of the few stolen cards I still have left that are fairly fresh. I don't draw out much, just enough to get me by, and not enough to cause a lot of havoc for those I've stolen it off of.

I'm practically a saint, by all standards.

I spot a few clothes shops after I leave the motel, and I quickly purchase a few sorely needed outfits, shoving them into a duffel bag.

The bag has become my home, and everything I own lives in it. Most of the time it stays in a little cubby I've found in the witches house when I'm not slumming it in a motel, but at the moment the room is still good for a few days, so I drop it off there, changing into my new jeans immediately.

I head to Lebanon afterwards, wanting to at least go in the same direction of the Winchesters if they're still even there. It's been just under a week since I attacked Dean, and I'm kind of wary of the place.

The closer I am to him, the higher the chance that I lose control.

So I stop at a diner, stomach grumbling painfully as I order breakfast. I make quick work of it, a little disappointed when no familiar Winchester faces head through the door during my stay. Despite the need for distance, I can't help but crave to see him, see them. It satisfies the thing inside of me that fuels the curse, but in the same sense it also antagonises it. Like a negative feedback loop.

God, I should just get it over with.

How long has it been now since my awakening? Three months?

Three shitty months of the same old shit. And if I do kill him, maybe the witches will ask for something inane, like finding some ancient relic or something, not that I'm any good at that.

But what am I even thinking. Of course it's not going to be something easy, of course it's going to be something that will inevitably cause death, that's the whole reason they woke me up in the first place. It's the only reason anyone has ever forced me back into this world.

I can't even say it's better than when I am out of it. At least when I'm 'asleep' the world goes on regardless of my lack of awareness. There's no dreaming, no nightmares, no death. It's kind of nice, the nothingness.

I sigh, the coffee tasting bitter now.

There's no point in hanging around, so I leave quickly, shoving my hands into my pockets. The streets are a little empty this morning, probably because it's mid-autumn now. The air has a bite to it, and I window shop, huddling deeper into my jacket as I go.

This is kind of nice though, despite the niggling thoughts that taint my head. The distraction of normal things is soothing, and I eye a scarf through a shop window. Seeing its price tag though, I reel back, shaking my head.

Why are things so expensive? Surely that scrap of wool is not worth fifty dollars?

Maybe I should get a job, make an honest living whilst I'm plotting the murder of Dean. Like a serial killer blending into the masses.

A hand clutches the back of my jacket and I'm yanked backwards, the strength entirely too surprising as I'm slammed into a wall after I'm dragged deep into a grungy alley.

I grunt, looking up.

Blue eyes glare down into my mine, and I'm on my tiptoes as the arm across my neck presses harder, pushing me further into the wall.

"Well, hello to you too," I say, breathing in sharply as Cas shoves away.

He smooths down his overcoat, face revealing nothing, "Evelyn."

I cringe but nod, "Cas. This is a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you?"

The Angel squints, "I assure you that this meeting will be anything but pleasant. Not after your exchange with-"

"Dean, right? After I roughed him up a bit," I look down at my arm, "And you chopped off my arm?"

He too glances down at the limb, a furrow forming between his brows, "Yes, an arm that miraculously reattached. How is it that such a thing is possible for you?"

I tap his nose, delighted when he steps back, "Ah, ah, ah. A true magician never reveals their secrets."

"But you are not a magician, Eve. You are something else… something that I, nor my brethren have seen before."

I shrug, ignoring his lack of metaphorical understanding, "Thank you."

"It was not a compliment," he says, standing taller.

I sigh, "For real though, what do you want? I'm kind of busy."

He lowers his head, "I have come to warn you against any further action against Dean, or Sam for that matter."

I nod, "Okay. Warning acknowledged."

He steps back a little, head cocking to the side, "I did not expect you to be so… accommodating."

I laugh, "Oh, I didn't say I'd stop hunting Dean. I merely acknowledged your warning. I'll still kill him."

Blue eyes flash, an eerie glow appearing beneath their surface and it's far too easy to forget that I'm dealing with an honest to God angel here.

"Understand this, Evelyn, that if you approach Dean again, the outcome will not be in your favour."

I smile, moving to step around the Angel but he stops me, stepping into my path, "And what makes you so sure, huh? After all, Castiel. You've never come across anything like me before."

His eyes narrow, and I carry on, "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And if you're so confident, why would you tell me this instead of just smiting my arse when I come for Dean again?"

He purses his lips, looking away for a few seconds. I can practically hear the gears whirring away in his head. Finally he looks my way again, and his brows are tipped up in the centre of his forehead, his eyes beseeching in their sockets.

"Because I have hope that you will not do it, not because of my warning, but because I see…"

I blink, not expecting this. His voice lowers, softening somewhat and he reminds me of Sam, when the younger Winchester tried to get me to abandon this whole contract thing back in the alley last week.

"I see something inside of you, something that does not want this anymore than we do."

Wow. Okay. Uncomfortable.

Can Angels read your mind?

Not that I agree with his statement.

This feels way too personal now, though, and I shift from foot to foot under his gaze. God, if there was a picture in the dictionary under the definition of puppy dog eyes, Cas and Sam would be there.

A couple of teenagers pass by the mouth of the alley but Cas doesn't step away, and a few of them glance our way, giggling before moving on. I would be embarrassed, but something tells me the Angel doesn't understand the notion of personal space, or social cues for that matter anyway.

He's forgetting something though. They always forget it, always ignore it. This isn't something that I'm choosing to do, and I steel my gaze under his.

"I don't know what you're seeing, Wings, but it's definitely not that."

I step around him this time, moving to leave the alleyway when his deep voice stops me.

"You cannot lie to me, Eve. I see through it all, and I see that you do not want to harm the Winchesters."

I shake my head, looking up at the sky.

"I am not under the false impression that you care for them," he says, moving to stand behind me, "I'm aware of the fact that they are disposable to you, but I see the pain – I saw the pain in your eyes after hurting Dean, and I have only ever seen that pain in those who do not wish to be-"

I laugh, cutting him off, "Seriously, stop. This doesn't concern you, Cas, and if I were you I'd make yourself scarce until this whole thing blows over."

I walk away, satisfied when I don't hear him following, but as I reach the street his voice stops me again.

"If you continue to pursue them, Evelyn, I will be forced to intervene."

Shoulders set, I look down. A little thrill races down my spine at the prospect of a tête-à-tête with an angel, because I don't know how far his powers go, I don't know if she ever prepared my body for that. I've withstood everything I've ever come across so far - disappointingly enough - but maybe Castiel can put an end to it, maybe he can actually do it, actually kill me.

"I'm counting on it," I say.

And I walk out onto the street again, leaving the Angel behind.


	10. Chapter 9: Unwelcome Company

**Hi everyone :)**

 **Hope you're all well.**

 **I'm trying to stick to a weekly update basis, but life keeps getting in the way - Uni and Work, that is.**

 **I hope you enjoy the next chapter, the boys are back! It's getting hard to write now, I have this plan in my head and the big events are literally right around the corner and I just want to get to those parts but I can't just yet, it's so frustrating!**

 **Let me know what you think anway, and thank you again for the reviews, they genuinely make my day :) You'd think I'd like, check my emails for important things but I genuinely just refresh them to see if anyone has reviewed or if anyone hates this :') Priorities right?**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

9: Unwelcome Company

The club seems quite low key on the outside, the heavy thrum of music barely escaping the doors as each person is ushered in by the bouncers. It's not quite a club, but it's not _not_ a club.

Still, I feel ridiculous in this low cut, short dress, and I smooth it down for the umpteenth time as it bunches up around my bum once again. Standing in the queue, the line moves sluggishly, and my heels are beginning to irritate me.

Lights illuminate the side of the light blue building, highlighting the small yet wide exterior, and I take in the people around me.

Apparently this place has a dress code, hence why I've had to don the LBD. It's far too short and it flashes a lot skin, not that I judge anyway, but the cold winds its way up my bare legs, raising goose bumps.

When I reach the bouncer I pull out my ID, and he waves me in inside as he pulls the rope back.

The place is dark inside, with only a few lights hanging over the bar and the booths off to the side of the dance floor. The floor vibrates with the bass of the music, and I believe it's rap playing right now. I'm not sure, music genres still confuse me, but so far this particular genre is my favourite.

I make my way over the bar, eyes sweeping the dance floor.

Elli said the girl who's selling their stuff will probably be here soon, and she'll most likely be occupying one of the booths or sat at the bar. She sent me a picture of her, but I've yet to see a small, skinny, lilac haired girl with piercings dotting her face. Maybe I'm a bit early.

I order a fruity drink, smiling appreciatively when the bar tender offers it on the house.

The place isn't too full, but as more people coast through the door it's getting harder to differentiate between everyone in the low light, even with my eyesight. I arch back, watching every person who enters the place.

No one stands out, and I sigh as I lean back in.

A warm presence is the first sign of company, and someone slides into the stool next to mine, a warm hand pressing lightly against my lower back.

"Hey," A low, velvety voice says, and I turn to acknowledge the newcomer. Blue eyes meet my own, set in a rather handsome face. Dark stubble graces his jaw, and his dark hair has a slight wave to it. Definitely a little drool worthy, but I can't help but compare him to Dean.

God, the elder Winchester is becoming a proper nuisance.

"I'm John," he extends a hand, and I look down at it for a few seconds before extending my own. He presses a kiss to my knuckles.

A little cheesy for my liking.

"Eve," I say, raising a brow.

He nods, smiling, "Nice to meet you, Eve. Sorry, I know what you're thinking, but when I saw you… I just had to come over and say hi. You're absolutely gorgeous."

My cheeks burn a little, and I'm just a tad embarrassed by my reaction but I smile regardless, "Thank you."

"So, you here alone?"

I nod.

"Good news for me then."

I blink and he laughs, ducking his head.

"Sorry, that sounded way too creepy. Honestly, I'm not a murderer."

"That's what a murderer would say."

He snorts, flagging down the bar man, "Fair point, fair point. Can I get you anything?"

I down the rest of my drink, shoving the glass away, "Sure, same again," I say to the bar man as he settles in front of us, "Thanks."

"Put it on my tab," John says, ordering himself a drink, "And no problem," he says to me, turning to face me more so, "But I have to ask. I know it's obvious, but you're British, right?"

I open my mouth, ready to reply but the glint of piercings draws my attention immediately.

There she is. Approaching a booth, shoulders hunched. She takes a seat quietly, crossing her arms and ducking deeper into the plush, red seats.

"Sorry, I have to go," I say, and down the new drink as soon as it's dropped in front of me.

"Wait – Wait! How come?" he says, standing, "I thought we were getting along?"

I nod, "We were – are, but I have to sort something out."

He fishes around in his pant pocket, pulling out a phone, "Well, can I at least have your number?"

The girl looks around, her eyes briefly passing over my frame and thankfully she doesn't hesitate. So she definitely doesn't know who I am, at least.

John presses a finger to my wrist, drawing my attention back around. He smiles softly when I look at him, and I hold in a sigh before taking his phone.

I mean, he is kind of cute, and it would be nice to something besides plotting murder. God, if he could hear my thoughts, he would go running for the hills.

He rings my phone as soon as I hand it back, "Just so you have mine, too," he says. I nod, and he leans down to peck me on the cheek before disappearing.

Piercing's is thankfully still sat in the booth and I breathe in deeply, regretting it almost instantly as the smell of spilt liquor and sweat assaults my nose. The heels are wobbly, but I manage to cross the floor of the club with a little bit of dignity, shouldering past a few people. They glare, but I glare right on back.

She still hasn't acknowledged my presence, so I slide into the opposite side of the semi-circle booth, smiling when she finally looks my way.

Eyes wide, she blinks before saying anything, "Uh, who are you?"

"I'm the person who's going to slit your throat if you carry on selling the witch's shit," I say, ever the conversationalist. The heat of the place is starting to annoy me, and I kind of want to speak to John to again.

She leans back, face falling, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, is that right?" I say, grinning, before grabbing the precious bag she's clinging to, yanking it away from her white knuckled grasp, "So, if I look in here there won't be one of their personal grimoires, right?"

I rip the bag open directly down the seam, dropping the contents onto the table and low and behold, the dusty old book tumbles out right alongside her other shit. I pick up the book, twisting it this way and that, "Yup, seems like one of theirs."

"Listen, I can explain-"

"No, you listen sweetheart. I don't give two shits about their stuff, but the witches know about everything you're doing, and they're making me do their dirty work – cleaning up the mess _you're_ creating. That's not fun for me."

She blinks, blood fleeing her face, "You're… You're her, aren't you?"

I shrug, "Maybe."

She balks, pressing deeper into the cushioned chairs, "God, please don't kill me, I didn't – I only did it because I needed the money, I don't even – I hate them, I don't want to be part of their coven. They're into some sick shit, they're evil, they've forced me to do… to do some insane shit, and I don't – I don't want to be a part of it no more and I-"

"Hey," I snap, because the girls talking a mile a minute and I really cannot be bothered to listen to her ramblings, "Like I said, I don't care. Just stop doing it."

She hiccups, just as a very familiar scent circles around us. For a brief second I'm confused, my heart jumping in my chest. We both look up as two guys stand at the end of the table, and I have to blink a few times. Am I hallucinating this again?

Since the demon kills the hallucinations of Dean have practically stopped, but it looks like they're starting up again. But Sam is a new contender, he usually doesn't appear, Dean's almost always alone.

The two boys scowl down at me, and they look quite good, considering. Dressed in dark jeans and smart tops, they fit right in here.

But when Piercing's gawks their way too, it becomes very apparent that they're not my imaginary friends, they're actually here.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I say, leaning back as Dean leans forwards, pressings his palms against the table.

"Sorry, sweetheart, looks like you're in the way… again."

I scowl, taking in his features, "Listen, if anyone is in the way here, it's you two dickheads."

Considering I nearly killed the guy a week ago, he looks surprisingly healthy… like, way too health. No scars, no cuts, no bruises. Nothing at all. Not even a wheeze in his breath, and I'm pretty sure I broke a rib, too.

"How are you even walking about right now?" I say, raising a lip.

He slides into the booth next to me, grinning and I stiffen as he throws an arm over my shoulder, "I'm stronger than I look," his eyes travel down my frame as Sam takes the seat to Piercings, and it's a bit too late to realise that they're effectively blocking us in. If Piercing's face goes any whiter someone's going to have to call an ambulance, she looks like she's about to pass out.

"So am I," I growl, pulling his arm from around me and pointedly squeezing the bones in his wrist. He frowns a little, but otherwise doesn't react, "So I suggest you leave."

"Or what?" Dean says, a low warning in his voice as he leans my way.

"You want a repeat performance of the alley, big guy?" The closer he comes, the more I want to lean forwards and just rip his throat out right now, the curse stretching, flexing it's muscles. I can see the stubble gracing his jaw, and the small scar located there. I focus on it as my blood begins to pound.

He shrugs, moving back – thankfully, "I mean, if you think you'll come out on top this time…"

"So eager to die," I muse, "Do you have any sense of self-preservation?"

Sam purses his lips, interrupting Dean's dark glare, "Apparently not."

Dean scowls at his brother, but the girl speaks first, "Listen, I don't want any trouble – please, just let me go."

"No," Dean and I say simultaneously, before glaring at one another.

"Why are you here?"

Dean blinks at me, "You mean, besides the fact that she's selling shit to demons? Besides the fact that there are _demons_ here?"

I narrow my eyes, bristling at the sarcasm but Sam leans over the table, drawing my attention. He braces his well-muscled arms on the sticky surface, "We're just here to get rid of the demons, we don't want to start anything unnecessarily."

His brother is clearly in the right frame of mind for this little meeting, he's playing the smart game. Dean is too focused on revenge, I think. Now is seriously not the time nor the place, I don't think I would be able to stop if I go for Dean again. I don't want this, and he shouldn't either.

"Then leave," I say, looking up through my lashes at the two of them.

"No can do," Dean quips, and he braces his arms on the table too, "We're here to kill some demons, and possibly a witch, so that's exactly what we're going to do."

The girl squeaks, "But I – I don't want anything to do with this!"

"Too bad," Dean snaps, "Should've thought about that before you sold a bunch of lethal stuff to a demon – stuff that's already been used to kill innocent people."

She blanches, eyes going a little glassy and I swear to God if she starts crying I'm going to leave. I don't do crying, it's too awkward.

"Well, your skills are not needed here," I say, "So you can leave, like I said. I'll kill the pesky little demon for you, so fuck off."

Green eyes darken considerably, but we're interrupted once again, and I have to refrain from throwing my hands in the air, biting back the explosive sigh. A tall, lanky dude stands at the edge of the table and he takes us all in slowly, a frown pulling at his heavy brows.

"What is this?"

The girl blinks, mouth falling open before she glances around at us all currently occupying the spaces besides her. So, this must be the mystery demon, the buyer.

"You here to make a deal?" I say, and he scowls my way. In the low light it takes a few seconds before his features flatten out, his shoulders rising as he scans my face, "Buy something, huh?"

"I thought they were lying," he grumbles, realisation dawning on his face. I cock my head to the side as he continues, "I thought that they were making it up… saying that you had returned, maybe tryng to get on the boss's good side."

I shrug, "Apparently not."

Sam and Dean have remained unusually quiet, which usually means that they're planning something which I assume will inevitably go wrong for myself.

So I need to nip this little meeting in the bud immediately, before they do something stupid.

"Let's just establish that we can't exactly start knocking heads in the middle of a club," I say, eyeing the two brothers. They dismiss me with a glare, "But I'm more than happy to entertain you guys outside – if you want to stick around and fight, I'm all for it. But first I have to deal with, uh…"

I glance at the girl, and she withers under my gaze, "Judy."

"Judy," I finish, "So, can we all just call a time out, maybe reign in our ego's for just a second, and I'll meet you outside in like… ten minutes?"

Sam grimaces, eyes falling on Dean and some silent communication occurs between the brothers.

The demon grins, however, revealing a set of yellow teeth, "Oh, hell no. I'm not getting involved in this – The Winchesters and Evelyn at the same time?" he scoffs, "I'm not all that into suicide… which is a bit of a coincidence, don't you think, Judy?"

Judy flinches.

"The Winchesters and Evelyn… who wants to bet that the new contract is something to do with you boys?"

I straighten, hackles metaphorically rising, "Watch your mouth, demon."

"I bet Crowley is going to love this," he says gleefully, eyes flashing black.

Crowley? Who the fuck is Crowley?

"Let me know when you're ready to deal properly, Judy – without company," he winks, before his head snaps back and smoke plummets out of his mouth. It's like the scum doesn't care that there's a tonne of witnesses surrounding us right now, and although I barely care about the need for secrecy either, I'm pretty sure there's some unwritten rule about subtlety in the demon bible somewhere. Sam and Dean both move to stand, but the smoke slithers out of the vent above us.

Both of them slump back down into the seats and I grin, resting my chin on my hand. The vacated vessel blinks, stumbling back a bit before shaking his head, eyes glazed.

"What the hell?" he mutters, "Where am I?"

"Go away," I snap, and the guy scowls at me, swaying a little. I allow the energy currently swirling uncomfortably inside my chest to creep out into the open a little bit, my own eyes flashing dark and he swallows, nodding before he pulls a 180° and toddles off.

I turn to the two hunters now that we're alone, interrupting their stare down, "See, problem solved, you two can definitely leave now. I got this, don't worry."

Please, just leave. I can't stand it – Dean's entire presence is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

He snorts, "Yeah, okay, we'll just let the witch walk then."

"Who said I'd let her walk?"

Which, to be fair to them, I was totally going to let her walk. I don't care about what she's supposedly done, as long as she doesn't do it again. And judging by her piss-my-pants scared expression, I have a strong feeling she's going to walk away from the witches and this whole dealing thing as soon as she leaves our sight.

"Eve, you know how we operate by now," Sam says, and I look at him once again, grinding my teeth as Dean's smell surrounds me yet again, "You know what we do – and you sure as hell know that we obviously can't and won't trust you. So let us deal with the witch, and we can go our separate ways tonight," he continues, eyes falling on the girl and I'm not surprised to see a hint of sympathy cross his expression, "After all, you're not a hunter. We are, let us clean up this mess."

I deliberate on this, eyeing the girl as I do. She's shaking hard and she won't stop blinking, as if she's holding back the flood of tears that I'm sure will make an appearance soon. I don't know if the Winchesters will kill her, but I personally don't believe that her actions deserve a death sentence. She may have sold a few things to the demons, but they decide what to do with it, not her. And like she said, she doesn't want anything to do with the witches anyway.

And like they said, I'm not a hunter; why should I care about what she's doing, and why should I bother with cleaning up this mess if they're volunteering for it?

Which also brings up the question of – how do they even know about this meeting? How do they know about Judy and her deals with the demons? How did they know to come tonight to this spot?

It seems awfully coincidental, and yeah they may be volunteering to sort this out, but how did they even know about it in the first place?

I frown, asking them just this.

Dean looks at Sam, a grin pulling at his lips, "Oh, we have our ways. We're very uh… observant."

"Sure you are," I reply, but as his scent intensifies when he shifts ever so slightly, I grit my teeth.

The curse roars to life once again, pins and needles running down my arms as images begin to flood my head. I don't know how long I have left before I do something dumb, like maybe ripping his throat out right here, right now, so I stare down at the table, glancing at the witch one last time before relenting. If they kill her, it solves the problem once and for all, and if they don't?

Well, it's unlikely that she will continue her out of work activities.

The witches should be happy either way, as long as I don't mention the fact that the brothers played a part in all of this.

My fingers twitch a little, burning to cause pain as I reply, and I clench my fists hard, nails biting into the skin on my palms, "Okay, okay. I give up. You guys can have this one."

Sam nods, brows rising a little as Dean frowns.

I motion for Dean to move but he grins, leaning back, hands splayed out a little.

Oh, so he wants to play this game?

I'm not one to back down from a challenge, or a game of chicken, so I offer a tight smile before leaning up as much as the table will allow. Attempting to scoot out is hard, Dean is tall and leggy, and his jeans scratch the back of my bare legs. My stubbornness is becoming a hazard, and I'm pretty sure the dress is riding high, way too high to be decent now. I wouldn't be surprised if my bum is directly in his face, and my cheeks burn at the realisation.

To Sam's credit, he rolls his eyes at his brother's antics, and once again I'm left baffled by the mystery that is Dean Winchester. Any other person in the world would be running in the opposite direction, they would be putting as much distance as possible between themselves and I, knowing what I am. But Dean does the opposite, he runs towards me head on, regardless of the danger.

He's got balls, I'll give him that.

Or he's suicidal.

Either way, as his warm hands land on my outer thighs just as I'm about halfway across, grunting and appearing about as graceful as a doe on ice, I scowl.

"Need a little help, babe?"

Oh, really? I promptly lean back, throwing all of my weight into slamming down onto Dean's open lap. He grunts as I grin, pushing further down. I mean, I would blush, but his groan of pain is far too amusing, and I lean back, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Thanks, babe," I whisper into his ear, my smile growing as his eyes screw shut. I push off a second later, nimbly leaping out of the seat.

Sam is grinning a little too, but he quickly masks his expression as Dean glares at him, clutching his crotch, "What the hell are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," Sam laughs.

"See you both later, fellas," I say, nodding at the girl too, "Judy," before leaving.

This will probably come back to bite me in the arse, but what else am I supposed to do?

Dean's presence only serves to invigorate the curse more, and even now as I step out onto the street, his scent is burned into my nose. Tonight he smells fresh, with a hint of whisky thrown in there. A woodsy scent and I breathe deep, hoping the street will chase away the smell.

God, I need to steer clear of the two.

Before I inevitably go insane. Before I go through with the contract once and for all.

* * *

"I have these," Elli says, and it must be the first time I've seen her in person since our first meeting. She drops a credit card and a few other cards onto the table in front of me, and I pick the black card up, mouth lifting at the corners.

"They're not unlimited, but they're uh, they're enough," she says, "And they shouldn't be fully traceable – although obviously, cash is still a better option if you're worried about that."

"Obviously," I say, waving the card, "So, uh, this is just free money?" I know vaguely how these things work, but that's mainly through shoving them into machines and waiting till money is spit out before they're cancelled. The pin is a little harder to guess, but most of the time I just nab the card right after someone's used the machine anyway, so they basically give their numbers to me. Looking over a shoulder is quite easy.

"Not exactly…" she grimaces, "Well, in your case, yes. Because you don't technically exist," as it to reiterate her point she points to the name. Alexander Roth.

"That's not me," I say, and she rolls her eyes.

"Duh, but that doesn't matter. It's free money, yes, just… don't go overboard. The bank will realise you're not a real person faster if you piss your money away."

I nod, "Okay, okay, I'll go steady with it."

Elli nods, before fishing out a set of keys, "This is your new place, too."

I raise a brow, "Oh shit, really?"

"Yeah, I just thought living in motels can't be very… um, comfortable?" It's not, "So I bought out a cheap cabin. It's nothing special, it's close to Lebanon and the witches house though."

I nod, "Cool, thanks."

"No problem," she says, waving a hand, "But try not to let those guys know, it's their money so," she finishes, shrugging.

She goes over a few more things, pointing out a few other tasks that the witches are kind of wanting to me to do, and I sip my drink, nodding dutifully.

The coffee shop seemed like a good place to meet the following morning after the stunt with Judy and the Winchesters. And now that I have my own place, I'm eager to end the little chit chat and go have a look see. Elli drones on for a bit, but eventually she packs her things away, only stopping just before she moves to stand.

"Listen, I thought I'd just warn you – the witches know about the Winchesters interrupting your meeting with Judy last night."

Oh.

Great.

I grimace, "Right, okay, how?"

She shrugs, "No idea, I'd just be wary of going back, the older ones are on a war path. They want to know why you didn't kill them then and there."

"Oh, yeah, because killing the Winchesters in a very heavily populated bar is obviously the right idea."

She shrugs again, "You know what they're like. They don't see reason."

Odd thing to say. I squint at Elli as she continues to put her things away, and she offers me a small wave before exiting the place.

I really don't understand her. She seems to dislike the witches, and she is quick to criticise them as well, which is at odds with her relation to them. After all, Sadie is her sister.

Maybe she just doesn't like their methods, considering she is technically a witch herself. Not like I care though, I don't discriminate between the witches, they're all just as bad each other in my book. Natural witches, demon witches – all awful.

I pick up my new things, catching a cab outside shortly afterwards. I hand the driver the slip of paper with the cabins address on it, and with all of my things safely packed into the trunk we head out of town.

Elli is right, the cabin isn't too far away, and after weaving through a few dusty, forgotten roads, surrounded on all sides by endless forest, we stop outside of a modest cabin.

I pay the guy, thankful to be out of the dingy interior. The forest air is invigorating, and I enter the cabin a little cautiously. A nicely sized living room and kitchen greet my eyes, and down the hall I can just make out two bedrooms.

Elli really outdid herself. Although it's no Hilton, it will do, and I grin.

No more motels. No more visits to the witch house (if I can help it) and most importantly – isolation.

Now, I just need to figure out a way to avoid the Winchesters for the foreseeable future.

Easier said than done, apparently. I'm still a little suspicious about their knowledge of the meeting in the first place, and as I unpack my things in my new little home, my mind keeps going back to the same thing over and over again.

It just doesn't sit right with me, and as I settle in for the night I make a mental note to chase it up further. Maybe I can mention it to Elli, see if she can find out who's feeding them information.

Like I needed more stuff on my Winchester themed plate.


	11. Chapter 10: Mechanic vs Lumberjack

**Hey guys!**

 **I had the insane urge to write and edit over this last week, hence the second upload!**

 **et me know if you hate/like it. Trying to keep errors to a minimum.**

 **The boys are back, so is the main theme behind the show - hunting! Hope I did the little scene justice (by that I mean I hope I haven't butchered the lore behind monsters on the show...)**

 **Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you hate/like it :) I'm going to try and reply directly to reviews now, I did not realise you could do that at the start of this :(**

* * *

10: Mechanic vs. Lumberjack

I'm going full lumberjack.

I've adopted the lifestyle, I've got the red plaid shirt, the axe, the abundance of trees to chop down; I've got everything. Except the beard, that is.

Turns out chopping wood is incredibly cathartic, it really helps you deal with any pent up aggression that you've got going on. And I've only thrown the axe out of sheer anger alone like, five times now. The poor trees lining the perimeter of the cabin only have a few huge gouges in them as a result, so I do believe that I'm genuinely getting somewhere with my anger issues.

I swing the axe down another time, grunting as it slices through the wood easily and thumps into the wooden stump. Two neatly cut blocks fall to the mossy ground with a clump, and the sounds of nature punctuate the act. Birds call in the distance, and I'm pretty sure I can hear a river nearby, both providing a soothing background noise.

Yeah, I'm totally digging the whole lumberjack lifestyle. No wonder people do this, coming out here into the open woods and spending some time alone, it's calming.

Especially considering the fact that my phone has been decidedly 'Sadie/Witch' free in the last few days since the incident with Judy. It's been amazing, no phone calls, no texts – no summoning's.

And only the faintest sense of urgency in the back of my mind, only the occasional niggle that demands I march my arse out of these woods and kill Dean. He's been far from my mind and I wipe my brow, sweating a little too heavily considering it's quite cold out.

Well, I have been out here since six in the morning, and it's now approaching… two in the afternoon.

Christ, I've been out here for eight hours, no wonder I'm feeling grimy. I stare down at the little clock on my phone, brows furrowed. How did I lose track of time?

As if on cue, the phone rings and I sigh. I jinxed it. I thanked the heavens and they decided to screw me over.

"What?"

"Someone's in a good mood," Elli says and I snort, yanking the axe out of the wooden stump.

"Well, I was until you called."

"Harsh," she pauses, "But fair. Listen, I got a bead on a case the Winchesters are working on, I thought that maybe you'd want to tag along and see what they're up to."

Hmm. Tempting.

On the one hand I desperately want to remain as far away as possible from the brothers, especially the elder one. On the other hand though, I'm dying to see them again. And I'm going to blame that solely on the fact that I have a basic, instinctual and involuntary urge to fulfil the contract – Dean annoys me, and Sam makes me feel bad about being evil, so that can be the only reason. So I definitely want to see them because the curse wants me to kill Dean.

The need to carry out the kill rises, like a rabid dog responding to its name but I swallow the agitated energy, forcing calm, soothing breaths.

It will likely help my situation if I at least know what they're doing. It's becoming very apparent that I'm quickly approaching the end of my supposed grace period. Soon I won't have a choice, I'll have to act and although I'm not exactly happy about it, I need to start taking this thing seriously, instead of ignoring it.

Ergo, I have to start planning.

How am I going to kill Dean? I've thought about going in all guns blazing, that's the fun option but it's usually a little too messy. But the other, more covert options are boring.

Mind made up, I finally reply, "Sounds good, what are they doing?"

"Ghost hunting," Elli sniffs, "Their little pal is absent too."

Big Bad – Or should I say Big Good Castiel is out of the way. This is good news, not that he scares me but I think Elli and I are on the same page regarding the angel of the lord. He does potentially pose a problem. And I have a sneaking suspicion that he is related to the reason behind Dean's rapid recovery rate.

"That sounds promising, it would be good to see what they're up to, feed the witches a bit of info..."

"That's what I would recommend, they're on the warpath again. They want more on the Winchesters, they want them dead, like, now."

I sigh, "Yes, I know. That's all they ever want."

There's a pause before Elli speaks, "But can you blame them, though? That's what they brought you back to do, right? And you still haven't done it… Why? Do you like the Winchesters or something?"

I scoff, "Far from it. And I'm pretty sure they brought me back for something else completely, but your sister cocked it up for them. She nabbed the ring before any of the others could, and her first wish was for the death of one ' _Dean Winchester'_."

Elli sucks in a breath, "So that's why they hate her now."

"Yup," I say, "And I haven't gotten round to it yet because of none of your business, that's why."

"Touchy," Elli laughs, and I roll my eyes.

"Okay, I'm done with this conversation now. Let me know what the guys are doing, okay?"

I end the call on the sound of Elli snorting.

She may be one of the few witches in that coven that I can stand, but that's only for a few minutes at a time.

My muscles feel tense again, and I heave a sigh. So much for the relaxing weekend, it's all been undone by a two minute phone call.

I gather the chopped wood, adding it to the mounting pile in the storage hut next to the cabin. God, if anyone were to look at it they would know I'm totally ready for winter, I'll have enough wood for fires for a long time, although I may have permanently affected the environment as a result.

It's not long before I receive a text detailing the Winchesters supposed whereabouts tonight, and I exit the shower. I have a few hours to get there so I potter about for a while, rechecking all windows and doors for locks and alarm systems. Paranoia is a bitch.

When I can no longer delay it, I throw on a hoodie and some jeans and head for the door.

It doesn't take long to reach the destination the Winchesters are supposed to be making an appearance at tonight, and Elli assures me that they will be arriving soon. It's a little out of town, a long stretch of highway that has been abandoned.

So now it's just a waiting game.

God, I hate waiting around.

* * *

I sigh, glaring up into the dark sky. The light pollution is really doing a number on the visibility of stars tonight, even out here, and it's one thing that I miss about life all them years ago.

No light pollution. The skies were so clear, so alive.

But now all I have to amuse me is a boring backdrop of black, rarely interrupted by a pinprick of white. I can maybe see one or two stars at a push. And my phone is being decidedly unamusing, too. There's only so many shows I can watch before my battery drains completely.

So far I'm deeply invested in a serial killer documentary, but even that isn't enough to pass the time right now.

Another dramatic sigh later and I roll over to my side, shooting another text Elli's way. They haven't shown up yet, surprise, surprise. I'm beyond pissed, she said they would be here hours ago and I'm seriously considering walking away. All I'm doing is playing the role of creepy stalker, and is it absolutely necessary?

Maybe, probably.

Observing the one I'm going to kill is always helpful, it shows you who they are. You learn their habits, their interests, their fears… It reveals a lot, a hell of a lot. And it all helps in the long run, because when the time comes to finally bring their life to an end, it's usually whilst they're uninhibited, vulnerable.

But up on this roof top, the only thing I can see is a run-down gas station that's been abandoned for years. The whole area screams post-apocalyptic mess with its overgrown foliage and tiny abandoned buildings – three buildings, to be exact. The one I'm on is the tallest, and even then it's only around three stories high. So it's rocking the creepy vibe, and that's ignoring the company that currently inhabits the gas station.

I've seen the ghost quite a few times now, so I know this place is legitimately hosting an afterlife party. Although the ghost itself is not paying me any attention whatsoever, even when I decided to take a little look see into the building itself. It just stared at me before swiftly moving on, a pale figure dressed in blue overalls. He looks like a middle aged mechanic.

Even from here I spot him through the jagged windows of the station's shop as he cruises by every so often, stopping occasionally to stare balefully out at the open fields opposite his resting place before moving on. The dude stops now, scowling at the yellowing fields before limping away, out of sight. And then the loop repeats, a few minutes pass, I spot him through the huge hole the side of the station currently sports and then he's at the window, scowling out before repeating.

What a miserable after life.

It's another fifteen minutes of watching this guy through half lidded eyes before the Winchesters decide to finally show up, pulling into the station in their trademark Impala. The black car rolls smoothly to a stop, muffled rock music coming from the inside.

The ghost vanishes as soon as they pull up and I sit up a little. See, the gas station is good for a birds eye view. There's no roof hanging over the pumps and the shop itself is so run down I can see a good chunk of its interior.

Why has no one sorted this shit hole out yet?

Regardless, I grin when the two brothers exit the car and make their way towards the trunk, and I murmur appreciatively when they open it. A truckload of weapons are stored neatly in the back, and they rifle through it as I swing a leg over the edge of the roof, watching them.

Even from here I can hear Dean's deep voice - it carries well, a gravelly cadence that's just the right amount of rough. Sam occasionally offers input, interrupting the soothingly low melody. I think hearing Dean's voice is causing me to go insane. I simultaneously want to kill him and ignore him, his voice soothes the urge to murder whilst at the same time evoking it.

It's confusing and I don't like it.

I lean back, resting on one elbow as they pull out a few canisters of some type of white substance, followed by a shotgun and a few other weapons. They shove them into their jackets, muttering to one another now and Dean casts a long look at the shop.

The ghost appears at the window, as if summoned by those damnably green eyes but he looks a lot angrier now.

Which is strange, because I arrived here hours ago and he definitely acknowledged my presence, but the ghost didn't do a thing in response besides a fleeting, dismissive glance.

"Heads up, Sammy, we got company," Dean says, and I strain to hear them.

"You wanna lure him out or go in?" Sam replies, eyes also landing on the ghost.

Dean pauses, eyes narrowing, "Let's go in, be harder to lure the bastard out straight away."

The younger brother nods and the two head towards the shop, the ghost scowling all the way, staring them down until they reach the door.

The tension rises, the nervous energy mounting as they enter the place, and I have to admit that this is almost as good as the shows I'm watching. This whole thing is a thriller in its own right, a story that I get a front row seat to and I lean further in, as far as I can go without falling off of the roof altogether.

I think the only thing that would be better than watching right now is to be directly involved in it, being down there with them – well, not specifically them, but the whole hunting thing? I get it. I can understand why people might do it. It's exciting.

Although I don't know the first thing about fighting ghosts, to me they're just simply entities that have stuck around way past their expiration dates. I know they can interact with the physical world, God, do I know that. But how can you kill something that's already dead?

Regardless, there's no way I'm stepping in tonight, this is all about observation; this is about watching Dean, learning him.

Dean and Sam split up immediately once they're inside and I can't see what they're doing, but it says a lot. They work well together, so it will be a lot easier if Dean is alone when I kill him. It goes without saying that being alone is easier, but weak back up is a lot different to strong, reliable back up, of which Sam is most definitely the latter. Sam may distract me or get in the way long enough for Dean to run away.

And when I do kill Dean? I want to just get it over with, get it out of the way. I don't do long, drawn out deaths. It's unnecessary – disrespectful. And although it pains me to say it, Dean has gained a little bit of my respect, they both have.

For a few minutes everything is silent, just the occasional hoot of an owl breaking the oppressing silence. I can't see them, not even through the hole in the wall.

What are they doing in there?

And the ghost hasn't made an appearance at all now, not even in the window. They've scared it off, they've actually managed to scare a da-

Dean crashes through the window fast, landing on his back as he slams into the asphalt, skidding along it.

The ghost appears at his feet, flickering into existence out of thin air before smiling malevolently down at Dean.

Dean, who is currently scrambling back, clawing at the inside of his jacket as the ghost advances. He pulls out a shotgun and aims between his bent legs just as the spirit stops at his feet.

The shotgun is loud - Dean shoots and the ghost yelps, bursting into smoke.

Sam comes running out the door, a crow bar in his hands.

"You okay?!"

Dean nods, grunting as he gets up.

The ghost materialises behind Sam with a scowl and his brother is quick to yell his name, pointing behind him and Sam swings without a moment's notice, slicing through the air and the ghost, producing a similar result to that of the shotgun.

"Go! I've got this," Sam yells, circling the area.

Go? Go where?

I frown, sitting up as Dean scrambles into the shop again, leaving Sam behind.

Apparently the ghost is happy to entertain the younger Winchester as it flickers into existence again, narrowly avoiding the swing of the crowbar.

It's like a weird, disjointed dance. Sam swings, the ghost steps back, Sam swings, and the ghost disappears and reappears. The ghost throws Sam, Sam swings back, throwing a spray of the white substance from earlier. The dead guy doesn't like the white stuff.

I follow their fight with half lidded eyes, breathing slowly.

Meanwhile Dean is AFK, and I watch with barely concealed amusement as Sam is thrown across the asphalt yet again, the canister of white stuff spilling out across the ground. He immediately hops back up again although he stumbles a little, clutching his side. The ghost is surprisingly calm now as it watches Sam, a cruel smile curling its lips up. It paces, and Sam follows the movement with the crow bar.

Then it disappears. One second it's there, facing off with Sam, and then it's just gone. It's not in the shop and Sam does a double take, spinning left and right.

The sudden, unnatural drop in temperature is worrying though, and as the cold crawls up my back I frown, a little alarmed. It doesn't take a genius to suss out what's happening and I stand slowly, turning to face him.

Ghost dude flashes a silent snarl, rage curling his pale, almost blue features as he stands just a foot away from me. His hands are tight fists at his sides as he glares, and I raise a brow.

"Uh…"

"You entertain them," he hisses, before two very solid hands thump into my shoulders, hard.

I yelp, swinging back but it's already too late, no amount of wind milling arms will stop this rodeo. I fall, the ground rising rapidly, gravity pulling me down fast and air thunders through every space between my limbs. It's over fast and impact is harsh as I slam into the top of a dumpster, the metal denting beneath my body. Bones crack, breathing is a little hard, and I groan.

Fuck, that hurt.

The ghost looks down over the edge of the roof before pulling a Houdini again, and I raise my head, watching as the fucker appears besides Sam once more.

Except Sam is no longer focused on the ghost, nope. His eyes are one me, and his jaw is clenched hard.

He's lucky though, because the ghost bursts into flames a second later and my eyebrows shoot up of their own accord. A screech is the last thing he offers to the world, and then he's gone. Gone for good, I hope.

But what the hell was that?

Dean saunters out from behind the shop a second later, followed by a plume of smoke. But I'm too busy licking my wounds to really focus on them, and I roll off of the bin ungracefully, slumping to the ground with a groan. My knees take the brunt of the impact and they whine in response, fighting me as I stumble up. Each jerky movement sends a jolt of pain through my limbs, but the pain is already lessening, already vanishing.

Fuck you, ghost.

What the hell did I do? I wasn't fighting him, I didn't deserve to be pushed off of a fucking roof.

I scowl as I look up, dusting my clothes down, only to stop dead in my tracks, face falling.

The two brothers face me now, weapons casually slung over their shoulders. Dean's head is kicked back a little, his jaw jutting out just a bit as he looks down his nose at me, and his confident stance dares me to do something. Sam's jaw clenches and unclenches, and I worry for his teeth with the way he's grinding them.

"Uh," I say, flexing my fingers, "Well, this is awkward."

They don't reply and I offer a sheepish grin.

They're quiet, unmoving, that is until Dean reacts. His arm goes to his waist and he pulls out a handgun, raising it so surely and resolutely before pulling the trigger.

There's a loud bang and then a lot of pain. So much pain.

Everything stops, it just sort of stops, like short circuits. Feelings muddle, thoughts are hard, so hard… disjointed. The grounds gone. The ground is nowhere.

Nope, not gone, changed, and just changed. Horizontal. Wrong. I can't – I don't know what's – what's happening?

Smells wrong, tastes wrong, nothing is right. Nothing, nothing… nothing. Sight is gone – no, not gone, just not right. Limbs are gone, fingers and toes no more. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Sounds blur, sounds go and come, sounds are wrong.

And then it goes right again. Sensation returns fast, thoughts burn into clarity and a fierce acidic scorch mark incinerates the centre of my forehead. Sound returns in a rush of painful symphonies and suddenly my legs compute with my body again. I push up, vaulting to a stand, limbs heavy and weird.

Blood dribbles down my nose, a warm trail that slithers over my lip, and I press a finger to my lip, before tracing the skin on my forehead. Blood smears much more heavily there, and a circular dent is evidence enough to know just what happened here. The skin has already smoothed over, the evidence of the wound gone completely.

"Ouch," I say, my voice low and rough. My vision is still a little hazy, taking the longest to return but when it does I don't miss the exasperated way Dean rolls his eyes.

"So a bullet to the fucking head won't work either, then," Dean snaps, and Sam briefly looks at his brother before acknowledging me again, his own eyes wide, his stance braced for fight or flight.

So he shot me in the head…

My skin burns down my back, including the backs of my arms and blood drips down the end of my hoodie, even after the wounds seal. I bet my clothes have a huge hole in them now - I hit the asphalt pretty hard.

"I could've told you that," I hiss, eyes flashing black.

Dean shrugs, "But where's the fun in that?"

Oh, where's the fun in that?

I step forwards, because now I'm pissed. Now I'm angry. It's a blurry cacophony of emotions that rise like a wave, cresting right at this very moment and my claws slice into life, my canines lengthen and I'm certain that my skin is weaving a dark, ivy trail down my eyes and cheeks. There's no stopping it now, the energy inside roars to be released, but it's different this time. It's not uncontrollable, just… a little wild.

"Maybe that wasn't the best idea, Dean," Sam says, stepping back. He flashes his brother a worried look, his forehead wrinkling.

Dean doesn't step back though, because the fool is damn suicidal and I flash my teeth in a smile.

"She won't do anything."

I blink, as does Sam.

"You sure about that?" Sam says, eyes flickering between us, "Because I'm not so sure."

Dean smiles, tongue pulling on his bottom lip briefly, "Oh, I'm pretty damn sure. I know she won't. Not yet, anyway."

I falter, because he's right. But how does he know that?

Unfortunately for him, he isn't aware of the fact that he is the only reason why I'm not going to do it now, his reminder is the only thing that stops me from stepping forwards and wiping that smug smile off of his face. He's right, I don't want to end this just yet.

But I'm still angry. I stand straight, breathing out slowly before smiling, "You know what? You're right," I laugh, and my voice comes out a little gravelly. It always does whenever my abilities really push to the forefront of my mind.

Dean's eyes widen a little before he schools his expression, and for a second I wonder if he was calling my bluff. He adopts the self-satisfied, smug expression again. God, I'd love to show him exactly what I'm going to do to him when the time comes, and even through this splitting headache I can picture it.

"I won't do anything now, but you can bet your arse that I'm going to be moving in on you soon, Dean. Sooner now, because that was fucking annoying," I finally say, a small smile pulling at my lips.

My ears are still ringing and waves of vertigo keep assaulting my senses, and I'm assuming it's because the bullet severed a few neural connections when it cruised through my cranium. It's going to be a problem for days, now.

But just to reiterate my point, I dematerialise and appear besides their beloved car. I smile, claws lengthening just a little bit more.

They both jerk, whirling to face me and Dean's expression falls as I stand beside the hood of the car, leaning against the wing mirror.

"And just for that little bullet to the brain," I say, pressing my palms to the cold hood, "I'll leave my own parting gift," I dig my claws in deep before dragging them down, horizontally across the hood. The metal screeches, splitting apart like butter and the black metal reveals the silver underneath, the edges crumpling and jagged.

Eight long lines are left behind and I sigh as I lean back. I can see why cats like to scratch things, working their claws against rough objects. It's terribly satisfying.

Dean's lips working over-time as they sputter to find a response, his tall frame jerking forwards

He stops though, because I'm not done. Oh, I'm definitely not done. I yank the door to the driver's side open until it swings painfully wide on its hinges, and then I pull - hard. The car whines, protesting heavily as it teeters on its suspension, but the door pops off easily enough and I throw it to the dumpster with a flick of the wrist. It lands with a loud clatter, denting the lid further before it thunders to the floor. Dean watches the door go, jaw working hard. A muscle flutters there, and it's satisfying.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that."

I smile, leaning forwards, "Whatever you say, Love."

I offer a lazy salute before I dematerialise, forcing my body to extremes before I appear on the roof and I stumble, legs giving out, clutching the sides of my head as the headache of the century pounds through it. My skull feels like it's going to burst, and right where Dean shot me it feels like someone's deliberately hammering a pick axe into it. It's in sync with the headache and I curse Dean's name again, groaning as I rub my temples. Even my eyes burn.

Okay, being shot in the head is not fun at all.

That's my first experience of being shot, and I'm not eager to feel it again. God, it's so fast, so absolute. I've been stabbed, punched, kicked and even shot with an arrow, but they're nothing compared to the stopping force behind a gun. It kicks you back, shoves you hard. Forget about the actual penetration of the bullet ripping you apart internally, the actual shot has enough power behind it to send you back a little.

Dean's yelling penetrates the buzzing in my ears, and I smile despite the pain as I hear the scraping of metal on asphalt. The door, I presume. Curses that would make even a sailor blush fall from Dean's mouth as he starts up the Impalas engine, and I stare off into the distance, facing away from them as they drive away moments later.

So much for not getting involved.

But to be fair, this is all the ghosts fault, and I'm happy to know that the bastard is dead.

I lay on the rooftop for a while, head pounding for what seems like hours but is probably only half of one. I just lay there, staring up at the sky, watching as the smoke reaches high before eventually disappearing altogether.

When the pain finally subsides I decide to abandon the self-pity party, climbing down now that I know the Winchesters are definitely gone.

Curiosity has me going over to the now burnt out object behind the shop, and I laugh a little when I reach it.

A barely recognisable tool box sits in a patch of burnt ground, smouldering still. Weird, I didn't expect that. Why did he need to burn a tool box?

Whatever, I just want to go home, I don't even care. I want the lumberjack lifestyle back, because so far all the city has offered me is a bullet to the brain and a severed limb.

I need a long bath, and some alcohol.

* * *

 **Guys it is decidedly very hard to describe a gun shot to the head, so I hope I did it justice. I wanted the scene to come across in a way that showed the damage the bullet did to her brain, which is why thoughts and the writing are disjointed :) Hopefully it's not awful and terrible to read/understand. I just struggled for ages on how to write 4 lines...**


	12. Chapter 11: The Tables Turn

**Hey everyone!**

 **Hope you're all okay!**

 **Next chapter, and it's a little downhill for Evelyn from here, and a good dose of the Winchesters come into play!**

 **I've been wanting to get up to this part forever, but I didn't want to rush it! I hope you like it, let me know if you do (or if you hate it too, be brutal :))**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

11: The Tables Turn

A few hours later I walk – or rather I stumble into the cabin, pushing open the heavy wooden door but I barely feel it. All of my cognitive functions are focused solely on the headache that's currently drilling its way through my skull, spreading like wildfire down my spine.

I rub at my temples desperately, seeking any kind of relief but the movement feels slow, way too sluggish. God, if this is what a single bullet can do.

The migraine really took off shortly after I left the gas station, the headache building and mounting with every step. Now it's a colossal presence inside of my head that demands attention.

I fumble for the light switch, vision blurry as hell but I immediately regret it when the light pierces my eyes. I practically punch the wall trying to turn it back off, stumbling into the cabins log wall. It's like every ounce of energy is slowly being sapped right out of my body.

Even the rays of grey light that shine through the windows are a little too much, despite the fact that it's only just approaching dawn. The whole cabin is cast in shadows of darkness, out of reach of the windows, shadows that expand and twist each time I bother to look up.

A gunshot shouldn't do this, even if it was to the head – something is wrong, really wrong.

I lurch forwards, nausea rolling heavily through my stomach with the movement and I careen to the floor, hands shooting forwards, a clumsy attempt to stop my face from meeting the wood. Splinters bite into the skin of my palms and I blink, mouth flopping open as the ground yawns and stretches, the wood melting before reforming.

When the rays of light illuminating the floor are broken however, I look up, jaw still slack.

A trench coat greets my eyes, although the colour is way off. I follow the line of the suited body, and it's an understatement to say that I'm surprised by the decidedly heavenly presence filling my cabin.

Castiel glowers down at me, his blue eyes as hard as steel.

"What?" I mumble, squinting, blinking rapidly.

He cocks his head to the side, studying my frame intently before crouching down slowly. My muscles shimmer and flex in response, and I desperately want to stand, to do something – they quiver when I try, refusing to obey. No matter what I do they're fighting me tooth and nail this morning.

He flicks his hand back, and it's like someone's opened up a wind tunnel directly beneath me. I go flying, sailing out of the cabin without a moment's notice, taking the entire bloody door with me.

It hurts like a bitch. Wood splinters rain down as I thump heavily to the ground, skidding a few feet away. Gravel crunches and scrapes beneath me and I cough, breath exploding out of my lungs. For a second all I can see is stars and darkness, pain throbbing down my side.

The grey sky taunts me as I stare up at it, raking in every ounce of oxygen that I can. When shoes crunch across the gravel I roll over, balancing on my elbows as the stones bite into the skin.

He stands a few feet away, watching as I struggle to stand. I'm not sure, but I think the blow has managed to reboot my brain because my muscles decide to finally get their arse into gear, responding somewhat. Everything feels shaky and weak, but I gain my footing.

And then I smell them. Sam and Dean. Their scents penetrate my nose and I'm not surprised when they exit the tree lines seconds later, guns and machetes raised my way. The trio flank me on all sides and I look up, closing my eyes.

Their heartbeats are like goddamn drums pounding in my ears, an explosion of sound that sends my brain into overdrive.

"What the hell is this?" I rasp, offering a small laugh as the taste of copper assaults my tongue, "You all come to off me, huh?"

They don't speak, they just brace themselves further, guns raised and Angel cocked.

"How'd you find me, anyway?" I say, wiping at my mouth. A little blood stains the back of my hand.

"We have our sources," Sam says, and I shake my head, laughing as I stare at the rocky ground. This source of theirs… I want to know who the hell it is, because they're the best goddamn source I've ever heard of.

The world tilts a little as I look up before righting itself.

How the hell did they even find this place? This source must be someone close to me, someone who knows things. One of the witches maybe?

So many questions, so little time to answer them. It's not like they're very forthcoming, anyway.

Rather than delay the inevitable I splay my hands out wide, standing a little straighter, even though the movement has my tummy flipping.

"Well, come on then. I haven't got all day."

I expect some kind of rush, you know? Like they all would just... jump into action maybe - charge me or something? But instead they share a rather fleeting look, eyes flickering to one another and I sigh, hands on my hips as they press closer.

Castiel is obviously the main threat here, after all, the guy just sent me flying with a minute flick of his wrist. So if I can just focus my efforts on him, maybe I'll have enough energy at the end to finally off the Winchesters.

It's sooner than I would have liked, but they've kind of forced my hand here.

The familiar well of power that thrums beneath my skin shivers as I try to access it, urging it forwards but it's slow, lethargic. Before it used to be a tidal wave of energy, a river that flushed through me whenever I unleashed it. But now? It's like someone's built a dam, with only a few small holes that let the power trickle through.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to turn black, for my vision to stop rebelling against me, and even longer for my claws to take form. My cheeks don't burn, strangely enough. So I'm going to assume that only my eyes are the thing turning black today.

I'm being smothered, but by what?

What the hell is happening to me?

The momentary panic is a little blinding, and I'm ashamed to say that I lash out without thinking, canines lengthening as I swipe at Cas. He jumps back, narrowly avoiding the blow but he's not fast enough, because the next swing catches him straight across the chest. Too intent on doing some damage, I only stagger to a stop when blood and light spills out of the four slashes in his shirt, a blinding mixture of blue, white and red. It's distracting.

Angel's bleed light?

He staggers back and I raise my hand again, teeth bared.

"Cas!" Dean yells and boots scuff the ground. I whirl, sending a roundhouse kick his way. The blow catches him in the jaw and boy, does it look like it hurts. He snaps back, spinning to the ground as his brother lunges forwards, taking his place.

I duck, just in time too as a huge fucking knife sails right through the space my head previously occupied. On my way up I claw his thigh deep, ripping what I can with a snarl and he grunts, stumbling back. Blood quickly seeps through his jeans and the sight, the smell is invigorating.

Dean's already getting up though, wiping his lip as blood dribbles from a newly formed cut. Dean's blood is like nothing I've ever smelt before, tempting and altogether too irresistible to ignore. Frenzy mode comes into play.

Castiel appears to be on the mend too, and his recovery draws my attention back around. Angel first, Dean later. He frowns as I approach, his chest no longer glowing and I smile. His form shimmers, but I think that's because my eyes are still trying to play catch up.

"Big mistake coming here guys," I snarl, back handing the Angel, "Big fucking mistake."

They've essentially sealed their fates.

Something slams into my shoulder hard, and I jerk forwards with a grunt, pain slicing down my back like acid. A gun shot echoes the attack, and I stop, looming over the Angel as blood begins to dribble out, down my back.

Another gunshot wound?

God, and this one burns like a mother too.

I twist around, lips pulled back. Dean's gaze is fierce as he stares down the opposite end of the barrel of the gun, and he fires another two rounds in quick succession. They punch into both of my shoulders, a battering ram of pain and the debilitating weakness from earlier returns full force, burning outwards from the two, newly formed holes.

I try to take a step forwards, I really do, but instead I fall to my knees, legs just... giving out.

Blood coats my tongue.

What the fuck is happening?

Why is the wound taking so much out of me?

This just isn't normal, this hasn't happened before. I'm a little worried, to be honest, especially as blood begins to pool in my mouth.

Dean pulls the gun back, holding his hands up as the weapon hangs from his thumb. I frown as he blurs, his frame blending in with the greens of the forest behind him before coming into focus once again. Blinking does nothing, it's like trying to see through stained glass.

He grins though, that much I can tell.

"Poisoned bullets, darlin'" he offers, and my jaw drops all on its own, blood pouring out of my mouth in a slow, continuous drip. "They really do a number on ya'."

He isn't kidding. Fuck, my body is going into full shut down mode. This has only happened a few times before, it's like a precursor before death. A way to immediately repair the damage, staving off the usually mortal wound until I can fully recuperate somewhere down the line.

Everything is going numb, fast.

"You think… this will keep me down for long?" I gasp, even as blood continues to tumble out of my mouth. It's a stark, red contrast against the ground.

Dean's all smiles as he approaches, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, "No, but we've got an angel who can help."

Cas moves around to join him, and they both tower over me as I sway a little. He steps forwards, white light burning out of those blue eyes of his and I flinch back, head pounding as it blinds me. Two cold fingers press directly against the centre of my forehead, and then it's lights out.

* * *

"How long… be out for?"

There's a lot of shuffling, a lot mumbling. All muffled by the sound of an engine.

"Not sure… poison helped but… process."

Castiel?

Dean?

I don't know, it sounds like them.

I groan, consciousness fighting me for all its worth. It doesn't want to return to me, not at all.

"Oh shit," someone mutters, and those two cold fingers return.

And then I'm gone again.

* * *

God, waking up has never been so hard.

It's like wading through a swamp of thick, murky mud, with a surprise every step of the way.

My arms feel numb, too, to top it all off. They tingle, the blood supply clearly cut off and I jerk forwards, wanting to move them down only for cold metal to bite into my wrists.

I shake my head, brain still foggy as hell. The movement sends a spike of pain through it though and I groan, nose scrunching up.

Okay, ouch. No moving of the upper region of my body for the time being, then.

I feel like I'm dangling on something, strangely aloft and my ankles ache something fierce, like I've slept on them funny. With a few, awkward fumbles I manage to get my feet underneath me so I'm standing and not just balancing on the bloody joint.

Instinct demands I open my eyes, take in my surroundings but each time I try to it feels like someone's rubbing sandpaper across them. I persevere though, grimacing the entire time, but I manage it.

Only to be greeted by stone cold darkness.

A surge of fear so powerful it robs my breath slams through me and I jerk backwards, the cuffs stopping me.

There's nothing like it, this type of fear. It's all consuming, contaminating your thoughts as it steals your breath. It steams through me like a freight train in my chest, and all of a sudden I'm back in _that_ basement, back in _that_ house.

I blink, shaking my head despite the migraine from hell. The memory recedes a little, but as a cold draft crawls across my body it returns with a vengeance, and the metal around my wrists grinds into the bones as I pull at them desperately.

The chains are back, rattling away, the manacles are around my wrists, and it's hard trying to differentiate between the then and now. It's all too similar, it's far too real. Even the smell is the same, a tinge of old blood and fear.

I'm not there – I know I'm not. But what if I am? What if this is just another one of their mind games? A sick dream or torture device she's implanted into my head. Her and Algernon, another way to break me.

They're dead though, they're all dead. I know they are.

But logic is useless, and I ride that train into the depths of my own personal hell, the darkness closing in once more.

I've never been one to really suffer from claustrophobia, but now I feel like wherever I am is closing in on me fast, and I pull on the chains once again. The answering rattle only serves to further solidify the memory.

God, I'm losing it. Breath saws in and out of my throat, whistling with each inhale and exhale and I squeeze my eyes shut, staving off the memory. But I can see it, I can see it all now – I can fucking breathe it. They're waiting outside, just beyond the door, waiting for me to lose-

Light blinds me, a rectangular slice that scrapes into existence, metal grinding against concrete.

A dark silhouette follows it and I cringe back, the chains jingling obscenely. There he is, he's back, come to finish what he started.

The light flickers on and instead of Algernon's familiar face, I see Deans, and a relief so palpable it's almost tangible swamps through me. He looks really confused, but so am I. My heart almost skips a beat when he quirks a brow, despite the fact that it's going a mile a minute.

"What the hell?" he mutters, and I look away, sweat dribbling down my temple.

He may be chasing the waking nightmare away, but that doesn't mean I want him to know that. So instead I focus on the room, now that its contents are revealed to me.

It can only be described as a box, a box of pure, solid concrete. Green cabinets make up one wall, the other three are solid stone. And a huge demon sigil marks the floor beneath my feet, alongside a table pushed to the side of the room. A few menacing looking items cover the top, and I stare at them before finally meeting Dean's eyes again.

This place is a hunter's wet dream.

I swallow as he enters the room, his eyes tracing my frame before he meets my gaze, "You been crying?"

I blink, because my eyes do burn a little. But my cheeks are dry, despite their rapidly reddening state, "No," I spit.

He frowns a little, but I'm too busy trying to figure out what's going on to really care. Now that there's light, I can see why my arms are dead. They're currently being secured above my head by a pair of golden handcuffs. Weird symbols are carved into the sides of them, and looped through the chain connecting the two cuffs together is another, grubbier chain that's bolted to the low ceiling. I pull experimentally on them but there's just no give whatsoever.

My mouth feels dry as I take Dean in once again, and my heart is still pounding away. It helps to look at him, to centre myself in the present, even if it means observing him for longer than what I'm comfortable with. It's grounding, for some reason.

He looks at ease, despite the tired look in his eyes, dressed in an open button down shirt; casual, relaxed. Even his features are relaxed. He doesn't even scowl when he looks at me. No, instead, he studies me as I study him. I focus on the few freckles that stand out across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, because otherwise I'll be confronted by the curious yet evident annoyance in his eyes.

He hasn't shaved, and I grin a little as he moves towards me, the faint bruises beneath his eyes evident enough that he hasn't slept in a while.

"Rough night?"

"You could say that," he grunts.

I smirk, "Bet mine was rougher," and I shake the chains a little.

This earns a small smile, the amusement surprising.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on?" I finally say, throat a little raw.

"This," he says, circling me, "Is your new home – until we decide otherwise, that is."

I try to follow him as he moves behind me, his footsteps slow and calculated.

"Oh yeah?" I snort, and he comes to a stop in front of me once again. I flex my jaw, meeting his gaze before pulling on the chains a little, "You think these things will stop me from tearing you apart, Dean? You look awfully confident, considering the fact that this ain't the first pair of handcuffs I've gotten out of before."

He raises a brow, and even though I'm on my tip toes trying to alleviate the way the cuffs dig into the tender skin on my wrists, he towers over me, "Ordinary handcuffs? Maybe not. But these handcuffs…" he grins, waving a finger at them, "These babies are one of a kind. They can trap anyone – trap anything, imprison them with no chance of escape. They won't break, they can't be opened by anything other than the key, and they'll keep even the likes of you in them."

Pfft. Yeah, okay.

I'll believe it when I see it.

But a niggle of self-doubt takes root when I yank on the cuffs, only for them to simply rattle in response. It's like I have no strength, no resources at my disposal. My power sits waiting for me to do something, simmering below the surface but when I try to access it, to use it as an aid to my already supernatural strength it practically laughs in my face. It's right there, waiting for me to do something, but it feels just out of reach.

I pull on the chains again, harder this time, gritting my teeth as the skin on my wrists breaks, warmth dribbling down my arms. The tender skin burns in protest, and I let go before doubling my efforts, jerking down even harder as more blood joins the fray. It slithers down my arms, it coats the inner parts of the cuffs but they don't budge one bit.

The cuffs are too tight for my hands to slide through, as well.

Dean watches on in amusement, eyes twinkling when I huff, pulling harder on the cuffs.

Nothing, nothing at all.

Where the hell did the Winchester's get something like this? The cuffs must be throwing off some major mojo for them to be able to effectively cut off my powers… they must be the real deal. They've built a wall between myself and my abilities.

"You having trouble there, sweetheart?"

I scowl, before wrapping my hands around the gold chain and hoisting myself up. A quick kick to his thigh earns a grunt, but that's not what I was aiming for. I drop back down, backing up a little.

"Cheap shot," he snaps.

"Where'd you even find something like this, huh? A couple of two-bit rate hunters like you?"

He taps the side of his nose, grinning as he straightens, "That information is classified, but let me tell ya', it weren't cheap."

It's satisfies me to know that they paid out of the nose for them, be it money or other more valuable assets. He heads over to the table then, confident as he begins to sort through the various, sharp looking objects. I suppose it's supposed to be a scare tactic as he moves a few blades and scalpels about, but it doesn't bother me. I just simply watch on, resting my head against my arm, shaking the limbs a little. Blood still refuses to really pump into the upstretched limbs.

The items all look menacing enough, and some I have never seen the likes of before. But it's nothing terribly new – torture, that is. I'm well acquainted with it – hell, I'm practically best friends with it. If he thinks a few knives are going to scare me into doing what he wants, he's got another thing coming.

Which begs the question, what do they want?

Besides the obvious thing, that is. My death is clearly numero uno on their list of things to do, but they must've brought me here for something else, too. They must be aware of the fact that nothing will me by now, surely.

"If you're thinking your little collection scares me," I say, internally cursing at the way my voice sounds a little rough still. I cough, clearing it, "You can think again."

He spares me a glance before continuing his perusal and I roll my eyes.

Sam enters then, his tall frame stopping short when I meet his questioning gaze.

"You're awake?"

He seems surprised, and I roll my eyes before replying, "Obviously."

He scowls a little before focusing his attention back onto the tablet in his hands.

"Dean?" he says, and the elder Winchester turns to him, "A word?" Sam motions for them to leave and I frown as I watch them go, exiting the box like room and stopping in the room adjacent. It looks like it contains a hell of a lot of files and other junk in it, and I can't imagine why. The two brothers don't look like the type to horde files.

And how the hell did they afford a place like this?

What even _is_ this place?

I should've tried to tail them more often. Sadie's words taunting me, now.

I grimace as I relax, my legs aching from standing on my tip toes for too long, but the answering bite of pain in my wrists has me sighing. At least they've stopped bleeding, which tells me that my healing ability is still in place, albeit a little subdued.

Their discussion quickly turns into an argument, judging by their agitated postures. Their voices are clipped, and I strain to hear them.

"It's not worth it, Dean," Sam snaps, eyes flickering my way, "Don't go down that road again."

"What other option do we have? Tell me," Dean growls, "'Cos honestly, I don't see any other way. We have to find out a way to kill her, or she kills me-"

"I know, but-"

"There's no but's about it, Sammy."

Sam looks away, jaw flexing hard before he faces his brother again and I squint, leaning forwards, "Remember Alastair?"

There's a heavy pause, one that seriously piques my interest. Why does that name sound familiar?

"That was years ago, and we both know Uriel screwed us over on that one."

Sam shakes his head, "I just don't see why it has to be you, why we even have to do it this way."

"Because there is no other way!" Dean snaps, and both of their eyes fall on me. I quickly look away, counting the cracks on the wall. When Dean continues, it's a lot quieter than before, "Bobby found a way to kill the Leviathans by doing this, maybe we-"

"And Bobby did so through sheer, dumb luck alone. Do you really think we're going to have another dish soap scenario again? Or that _we'll_ be that fortunate again?"

Dean shrugs, "It's worth a try."

Sam shakes his head, brows pinched together but apparently the conversation is over because Dean turns my way.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Evelyn," Dean grunts, entering the room a little.

"Define, lucky," I say, and he grins.

"Lucky, as in I won't torture you just yet," Sam's frame stiffens at the casual reference to violence, his eyes tracing the back of Dean's head as his brother continues, "We'll have to find out what's inside that pretty little head of yours later, huh?"

"Looking forward to it," I say through gritted teeth. "Before you do go, though," I continue, scuffing the floor with my shoes. He cocks his head back, waiting, "Just to clarify, the reason why I'm currently hanging from the ceiling is because you want to find out a way to kill me – which I assume you'll do so by trailing different methods?"

He looks over his shoulder, back at Sam who raises a brow in return. I know what they're thinking. They're going to torture me soon enough anyway, may as well tell me why now.

"Yeah, sure."

"Is that it?"

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes narrowing a little before he replies, "Actually, no. There's another thing – we want to know what the witches are actually planning."

I nod, looking down, "Okay, okay."

"Is that all?"

I nod again, and he turns on his heel, hand going for the light switch.

And with it my fear returns tenfold, a good dose of panic that has me coughing, wetting my lips with my tongue.

"Dean?"

I don't want to face the dark again. The moment that light goes out I fear that the panic will return.

He stops with a jerk, muscles tensing. Waiting.

"Could you um… could you leave the light on?"

His head rises at the request, the muscles in his back tightening a little as he deliberates. My heart seems to pick up speed the longer the silence stretches on.

"No."

And then the lights go out, and the fear returns full force – especially as the two brothers begin to push the metal cabinet like doors back into place, effectively sealing me back in. The room beyond goes dark a second later, too, and I hold myself together for about three seconds.

Fuck.

It's not the dark alone that scares me, it's not the cuffs alone that scares me, and it's not the cold or the smell or the powerlessness alone that scares me – no, it's a combination of all of these things. They're just too similar, and I bite my tongue until I taste blood.

I'm actually looking forward to his return, even if he carves into me.

At least then I'm not left with my own thoughts.


	13. Chapter 12: These Four Walls

**Hey guys!**

 **Sorry for the wait! Next chapter for you here, and I really hope you like it, I tried hard to paint a picture without revealing too much just yet.**

 **Let me know what you think! Enjoy :)**

* * *

12: These Four Walls

Time seems to be infinite when you're trapped in a never ending loop of your own thoughts. It doesn't show direction, it just occurs at a pace that is unknown.

Has it been five minutes? Has it been five hours?

Who knows. I certainly don't anymore, but being stuck with my own thoughts – my own memories – is driving me insane. It's pushing me to an edge that I seem to balance on for hours, sweat dripping down my face as time just slugs onwards and onwards. Even pain doesn't truly register anymore, it doesn't bring me back into the present, it merely facilitates the memories, encouraging them to consume.

I whisper careless words, hoping that the sound draws me back into the here and now. Muttering seems to help, and before long I'm airing all of my aimless thoughts into the empty void. Nothing incriminating, nothing that will hurt me, just utter nonsense.

No, I think about everything else, I think about anything else in the world. I think about sights and smells that are grounding, that are familiar.

Familiarity to chase away the familiar.

My wrists bleed periodically, each time I'm dragged back down into the recesses of my own mind. Initially they served as a distraction, the pain occasionally helping my situation. Now though, they seem to worsen it. The cuffs dig in deep as I push against them, sighing as the present swims back into focus, only to be dragged back seconds later.

Sweat burns my eyes and I squeeze them shut once again. Acid churns away in my mid-section, exasperated by the gnawing hunger that's starting to take root deep in my stomach.

It must be hours, hell, maybe even a day or two before someone bothers to return, and when they do I shuffle back, searching for any ounce of light. When the bottom of the metal door is illuminated I sag in the bindings, sighing when it scrapes open.

The light flickers on and I almost renounce my evil ways at the sight of it, but I stop short when a very unfamiliar face peers into my own from the doorway. A mop of dark hair falls across the teenager's forehead, and he looks tired, really tired, his olive skin pallid in the false light.

He's on the phone and I watch him a little warily as he does the same to me.

"Yes, Dean. She's still here… No, I haven't got any further with the – well, if you'd stop making me research your dumb cases for five seconds maybe I could – No, well… yeah, I mean jeez, okay."

"Hey," I whisper, the sound a little rough. He looks up.

"Hold on, she's talking to me," he pulls the phone away, opening his mouth to reply but the aggressive yet muted words coming out of the phone's tiny speakers draws his attention back to the device. He sighs, performing the eye roll of all eye rolls before placing the phone against his ear again.

Meanwhile I'm still trying to figure out who the hell this bloody guy is.

Maybe he can help me.

Yeah, okay. Like that's going to happen considering he's in cahoots with my captor. But, he does seem to be pretty pissed off with Dean, judging by his tone. Maybe…

"Hey, hey, she said – No! I'm not dumb, Dean! I know not to let her down… Why would you – you know what, screw this. I'm going back to the tablets, do your own dirty work."

He ends the call with a huff and I cock my head to the side, pulling on the chains a little.

"Mind telling me who you are, new guy?"

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot, "Uh… Yeah, uh, listen. I feel bad and all, but I genuinely can't talk to you considering you're supposed to be some kind of evil assassin or something."

"Wait! And _how_ do you _know_ I'm this evil assassin? I could be innocent for all you know."

His raised brow is sardonic enough and I huff.

"Okay, so maybe I'm not innocent per se, but do you think I deserve this?" I punctuate my question with an over exaggerated shrug of my shoulders, adopting a – hopefully – pitiful expression.

He shrugs, "Dunno, not my business. So uh… I guess um, bye?" he offers a small wave before flicking the light off and pulling the metal door closed.

"Wait! We can bond over our mutual hatred of Dean!" but he's already gone, and the darkness returns.

Back to the brink of insanity I go, all over again. The brief taste of reality only serves to worsen the intensity of the flashbacks and I groan, cursing the Winchesters.

There's not much I can do besides tough it out, but that's a lot easier said than done.

Especially when it seems like another eternity passes before the light comes on again. This time my elation is much less obvious, a tad more subtle because the visit is more than likely going to be another check-up.

This is probably one of their techniques. Like some weird, isolation type of torture that aims to weaken the persons resolve before they even begin. The mental degradation is probably the most effective technique they have though, if I'm being brutally honest about myself here.

My physical resolve is unparalleled – pain, I can take. My mental resolve though? I guess it's a lot weaker than I thought.

But what do they truly hope to gain out of this, when I know about as much as they do.

The door opens once again and I force myself to relax as the light comes back on, despite the shaking in my hands, despite the answering jingle of the chains. The sound is quiet, but it still grates on me that I can still have such a strong reaction to this stuff after all of this time.

Dean enters the room, his phone in one hand, his scent wrapping around me like an unwelcome blanket.

He stops to look at me, his brows inching together and I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I swear I see a flash of concern cross his face. The concern vanishes almost instantly though, a quick shake of the head rectifying his renegade emotions and he studiously ignores me as he heads over to the infamous table. A table that is still chock full of all sorts of dangerous delights.

It doesn't take him long to make a selection, weighing a particularly deadly looking blade in his hand as he appraises it slowly.

The theatrics are a little tiresome, but if he wants to drag this out then who am I to argue. Company is company after all. Especially after that gruelling stretch of isolation.

Mind apparently made up, he cruises on over to me, his gaze cold and unmoving.

"You enjoy your time alone?"

I nod, licking my lips, "It was fantastic. Honestly, five stars. Ten out of ten. Would definitely come back again."

His mouth twists, pulling up a little at the tips, "Hmm, sure seems that way."

The stare down of the century occurs between us as he twists the knife in his grip, the tip resting against the edge of his index finger. But I'm just happy to see another real face, happy enough to not take his malevolent glare seriously.

The blade glides across the strip of revealed tummy abruptly, a sharp distraction as it coasts across my skin, not quite cutting it.

I never turn away from him though, I never look away, even as the tip presses into the space just below my navel, biting into the skin. In hindsight, the too small strappy top was a bad wardrobe choice. Too much skin is on show, too many potential torture sights available.

He's so close though, his breath a minty fresh fragrance as he breathes slowly, evenly. Mossy green eyes narrow, waiting for something.

So I lean forwards, inhaling a little as the tip pierces my skin. It burns like a bitch, a pressure type of pain but what can I expect? I am purposely skewering myself on the bloody knife, after all.

I only allow the very tip of it inside, and to his credit he doesn't move back. No, we stay like that for a while, waiting for the other to back down. Warmth dribbles down my stomach as he presses deeper, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

When it's clear that I can do this all day he yanks the blade back with a harsh grunt, looking away as he purses his lips.

"What? Is that it?"

He glares at me before stalking back over to the table, practically throwing the knife down before coming back over to my overly stretched position. His shoulders are set, his posture as stiff as a board but I have no sympathy for him. My shoulders are the ones I'm weeping for at the moment, my posture is seriously suffering because of the position I'm in, and my feet are screaming bloody murder.

"I'm disappointed, Dean. I expected more from you."

I wait for the biting retort, expecting something. But all I get is a single, calculated sweep of his eyes. They coast across my body, taking in the random spots of dirt and blood that still coat my skin, zeroing in on the newly formed puncture wound. A wound that he created, a wound that's already closing up. It tickles faintly as the skin stitches itself back together.

Finally he meets my eyes again, stepping into my personal space.

"You lost your nerve, Winchester?"

Green eyes flash to mine, narrowing ever so slightly. But beneath the differing hues of green lays a depth that surprises me once again, the cold gaze opening up into something warm, something very recognisable. It's like the alley situation all over again, and it stops me from taunting him further.

"I've been thinking about this moment all day, you know," he finally says, his deep voice gruff, like satin dragging across glass, "About what to try, what would work. I mean I have experience but – you're not the usual type of monster I go for. You don't seem the type to really… respond to physical torture."

I raise a brow, "Oh? And how do you know that?"

He swallows, adams apple bobbing, "'Cos I know, I know when people will break. Hell, trust me when I say I know. I've got a hell of a lot of experience with this type of thing, and you're right. Those knives don't scare you. There's a clear difference between those people who will break after suffering, and those who won't."

I wait, tongue resting on my bottom teeth.

"There's this fear, you know? This immediate, gut wrenching look that people get in their eyes. You don't have that, you never have. So I know you're not the type to crack because of a little pain."

I glance towards the weapons waiting idly on the table still, "And you got all of that from a single puncture wound? Someone call Sherlock, because you may be giving him a run for his money."

He exhales sharply through his nose, "Sort of."

"Okay, but it looks to me like you're throwing in the towel a little early."

He snorts, "You want me to pick the knives back up, sweetheart?"

"To be honest, I don't really care what you do."

One side of his lips quirks up, "Oh, you won't be saying that soon enough. And that's a lot of tough talk from someone who looked like they were on the verge of passing out when I walked in here."

"Call that starvation," Low blow. Real low blow. I seethe despite my retort, my good mood temporarily forgotten at his casual remark. Because he's got me there. Although honestly? My frayed exterior does not mean that I am willing or even ready to talk. I was merely elated with the lack of darkness, with the break in the nightmarish spell that I was under. The presence of another soul chasing away the memories of an old one.

So his insinuation is a little off, but it doesn't stop him from smirking as he takes in my pursed lips and tightened fists.

"Well, let's just skip the hard parts and go straight to the good stuff, eh? Tell me a way to stop the curse or whatever the hell it is. Tell me what the bitches are planning."

"Don't know, and uh, don't know."

His bottom jaw grinds before he replies, "Don't lie."

"I'm not… scouts honour and all that."

"Listen, I put the knives down out of respect. I can just as easily pick them back up again. Lord knows you deserve it, even if you don't talk. So keep pissing me off, see where it gets you."

"Just go ahead and get them already, 'cos I have no idea."

"Bullshit."

I roll my eyes, looking away. The chains jangle as I move back, edging away from Dean's towering figure.

My skin itches an awful amount, a terribly distracting sensation that's just worsening my already irritable mood. It's probably because of all the fucking dirt and blood covering it.

I don't know how long I've been holed up in this place, although I feel like it may have been a few days now. That empty, biting hunger has been present for some time, and alongside the need for food is the desperate need for a shower. I'm just thankful that I didn't eat or drink before being thrown down here, because blessedly, I haven't needed the toilet just yet.

But I do need to wash. I feel disgusting, even though the only thing that I can smell right now is Dean.

Looks like the curse is still very much alive, if only muted. It's not out for the count just yet.

Or maybe I'm just purposely blocking out my own scent.

"Tell you what. You let me shower, and I'll tell you a secret."

He raises a brow, "Oh, and I suppose you want me to take those handcuffs off of you, too?"

I raise my arms a little, lifting away from the restrictive rings of metal, "Well, how else am I supposed to wash my hair? Unless you want to volunteer, that is…"

He glares, although something changes in those green eyes of his. Something warm flashes beneath the surface - a little, almost indiscernible change that softens his face dramatically, and an answering flush of warmth flutters through me.

He blinks though, severing eye contact as he steps away with a sigh, closing his eyes a moment later before shaking his head. He bows it, and his lips move slightly, as if he's whispering something.

I watch on with a frown, because honestly – I have no idea what he's doing.

Dean is an odd guy. Maybe it's the hunter lifestyle. After all, seeing so much death and carnage cannot be good for one's soul, I would know. Maybe talking to yourself is just a by-product of slaying monsters.

But seriously, what the hell is he doing?

There's a sudden ruffle of sound that drags my attention away from the hunter, and I jerk back as a blast of air wafts my way, throwing up strands of hair.

Castiel stands off to the side, appearing out of thin air and he regards the two of us, head half inclined, "Hello."

Dean spares me a glance before going over to the angel, and he practically drags the poor guy out of the room by the sleeve of his jacket.

They talk quietly for a few seconds, and either I'm too weak to hear them or they've cottoned on to the fact that standing in the doorway is just within earshot, because I cannot hear them for the life of me now. I lean forwards, squinting but their faces give nothing away either. Castiel merely regards Dean with a nonchalant expression as the hunter's mouth moves rapidly. He glances my way before facing Dean again, nodding after a few silent seconds.

Dean's features relax almost instantly, his head cocking back a little as he sighs before clapping the angel on the shoulder.

I shrink back though, especially as Cas heads straight towards me, his eyes never leaving my own. The moment he raises that magical hand of his I lurch back, cursing out loud as the chains keep me from really going anywhere.

"Hey! Back off, magic man. I don't want what you're selling."

He frowns a little, but ignores me.

His hand lands on my shoulder and a scalding hot flash bursts across my body, a light flashing very briefly.

And then I feel ten times better. My skin doesn't itch, and a quick cursory glance down my body reveals why. The man has actually given me a back. I don't know how, and to be honest I don't actually want to know how, but my skin positively sings in relief, finally able to breathe.

I still crave the feeling of hot water cleansing away the past few days, but at least I'm clean for now. Even my hair is clean, the long dark strands no longer stuck together; instead they flow over my shoulders, a little wave held in the locks. Did he style my hair, too?

Before I can grill the angel though he is turning back to Dean, apparently done with me for now.

"She is very hungry, Dean. I suggest that you feed her before she passes out from lack of sustenance."

And with that he disappears. Poof. Gone. Just like that.

How do the brothers stand it? The disappearing act is far too abrupt for my tastes, at least when I disappear my powers leave a tell-tale sign of it before hand.

This angel is genuinely giving me whiplash. I blink, shaking my head at the now empty space.

As soon as I open my mouth to address Dean however, my stomach growls, an obscenely loud sound that has me grimacing, snapping my mouth shut.

"Okay, you got your bath. What's this secret?"

Apparently he is also disregarding Castiel's proclamation of hunger, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thankful for that.

The last few days have been hell, and the last thing I want to do now is help the Winchesters. They can watch me rot for all I care. Before I may have cooperated, I may have told them what they wanted simply out of disrespect for the upper management. But now?

After spending hours locked away, alone and forced to re-experience what I have?

Screw them.

I'm determined to outlast them, and I'm confident that they will slip up at some point. It's a waiting game, and I've played it many times before with much more experienced players.

So as long as he isn't shoving food my way, my resolve can remain uncompromised.

"Eve?"

I smile, leaning as far forwards as the chains will allow. I beckon him forwards too, moving my fingers in a 'come hither' gesture and he sighs, eyes rolling to the ceiling before moving towards me. He's a little slow and I beckon him again with a huff, grinning as he grimaces in response, before his ear is close to my lips.

"My favourite colour is blue."

I whisper it, but his reply is explosive.

He jerks back, murder in his eyes, "You think you're funny?"

"Generally, yeah. Although that wasn't meant to be funny."

He rubs a hand over his mouth, "Why do I get the feeling that you're not taking this whole thing seriously?"

I snort, "Because I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because you have nothing, Dean," I say, voice level, serious for once as I stare at him, "Because you have nothing to scare me with, nothing to offer me, and nothing to gain."

He looks away, hands on his hips now, "What do you mean 'nothing to gain'?"

"Exactly that. I know nothing about the curse. I only know that it forces me into following orders."

"Orders that you don't want to follow?"

I frown, "I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

I scoff, "Okay, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, big guy. But this is a waste of time. I've tried everything there is to try to break this stupid, goddamn curse. But I can't break it, and neither can you. So the sooner you accept the fact that I'm going to kill you, the better."

He raises a brow, "We'll see about that."

And so it goes on and on, and on. He grills me about the same damn thing for the next hour or so, asking the same questions over and over again only in a slightly different way each time, as if he's hoping to catch me out. And each time I shoot him down, I tell him the same shit time and time again.

Because it's true, I don't know a damn thing about this curse, she made sure of that. I think it's some kind of warding spell, something to block me from seeing my own memories or something on the matter of breaking the stupid curse. Why would she let me see how she created it when she's the one who orchestrated it all?

And this is what Dean just fails to understand, no matter how many times I repeat myself to him. I've lost count of how many times he's run his hands through his hair, or the way his eyes flicker briefly over to the weapons on the table, as if he's reconsidering the advantages of using torture to extract the information he wants. And to be honest, I would prefer that. At least it would change things up a little.

When the young guy from earlier joins us however, he breaks the spell, pulling us out of the never ending loop of questions with a timid knock on the metal door.

"Hey," I say, and Dean turns to the newcomer, scowling my way.

"Kevin?"

The guy nods, looking over his shoulder before facing Dean again, "Sam said he needs to talk to you. Something about a case or whatever. I don't know. I don't know why he couldn't come down here himself, apparently the tablets aren't important enough-"

Dean holds a hand up, rolling his eyes, "Okay, save the sass for him. kid. Tell him I'll be right up."

"Sure, after all, I am the resident Winchester slave, am I right?" he glances towards me as if waiting for supportive confirmation, but his dark brows pull together instead, "You look a lot better than before. Ten times better, in fact."

I shrug, "Angel bath, does wonders for the skin."

He nods, pursing his lips, "Oh, fair. You look pretty."

I grin, all teeth and Dean groans, "Seriously, Kevin? Dude, come on. You're really trying to hit on the captive?"

The boy's cheeks redden and he stutters, "No!"

"Just go away."

Kevin offers me a sheepish grin, but at Dean's glare he toddles off, scampering out of sight with a scoff.

Dean turns to me now, and my smile is all kinds of smug, "Shut up. I won't be gone for long. When I'm back I want to hear you sing, you feel me?"

"I feel you…" I refrain from rolling my eyes and he scowls, leaving the room but not before turning the light off.

I swallow as the darkness returns, focusing on my heart rate. Now that I'm clean the memories don't hit as hard or as fast, now that the scent of blood and dirt is gone, but that doesn't mean they're gone for good.

And as the cold returns, an unwelcome intruder to my isolation I curse, images swirling to life in my minds eye, especially as my body whines with pain at being held in the same position for too long. You'd think I'd be used to shit like this by now, and to be honest I am, but my muscles still hate it.

So I stare into the darkness, waiting for Dean to return.

Apparently that's all I'm good for now.


	14. Chapter 13: Abstain From Truth

**Hey everyone!**

 **Hope you're all okay!**

 **It feels like it's been a while since I uploaded, but I think it's been a week. Sorry, I'm hoping to get chapters out faster! I hate waiting myself, and I always manage to forget previous chapters if I wait too long so hopefully that hasn't happened to you!**

 **I think this is my longest chapter yet, so hopefully you enjoy. Just a forewarning, there is a slight change of POV in this chapter - which is something that I usually hate to do! I hate seeing how other characters truly feel, I like mystery, but from this point on you HAVE to be able to see what the boys are doing away from Eve to fully understand how it develops from now on.**

 **Just wanted to warn you so it's not too jarring of a change, and it's from Eve's POV to a third person POV, but it will return back to normal next chapter!**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **13: Abstain From Truth**

It's like the boys have worked out a schedule, minus Cas, that is.

They take it in turns, one after the other coming down into their makeshift dungeon to grill me, to threaten me into submission. And each time I send them away with a snappy retort, elated with the dejected looks on their faces.

The next few days are particularly gruelling, as my stomach is emptier than a banker's heart and my throat is drier than the Sahara. Each time they come down here and throw curveballs my way I have to force myself to wake up, to snap out of this daze that's beginning to swallow me whole.

It's harder to break out of the stupor as time stretches on, as the visits increase, but each time they come down I always flash them a lazy smile. I've got to keep up appearances after all.

Sam is the first one to bring food down, his forehead wrinkled and his mouth tight as he enters the room with a bowl of salad in tow. Chicken sits atop the fresh food, and the smell is absolutely divine as it wafts my way.

He pulls up a chair opposite me, fork at the ready.

"You-" I cough, my voice catching, "What's this supposed to be?"

"Castiel said that you needed to eat."

I sniff, looking away, "Did he now…"

Sam nods, "Yeah, something that Dean failed to mention."

I don't reply, because I'm too focused on the food in his hand. It calls to me, my stomach growling obscenely at the smell. When Sam forks some my way I pull back however, turning my head. It takes every bit of my self-control to do so, and my muscles shake with the effort.

"What? You don't want to eat now?"

"I'm good, thanks."

A single brow rises, "Is it 'cos we have to feed you?"

I snort, "Well, it's not helping."

He pauses, and those hazel eyes of his are full of misplaced concern. Why he feels that way, for me of all people I will never know. Maybe it's the whole good guy spiel he's got going on. They can't help it, good guys. They have to save things, they have to help others. Sam seems like the typical good guy.

"You have to eat."

"Like I said, I'm okay… thanks."

"The gaunt look in your face says otherwise."

I snap a little, because my restraint is really being tested here, "Why are you insisting that I eat? Why you-" I cough again, spitting out a curse, "Why you of all people?"

He shrugs, "Cas said-"

"I know what Cas said!" I hiss, swallowing a second later, "But what really baffles me here, is the fact that you – the brother of the very man I am _trying to kill_ – want to keep me comfortable."

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that I want to keep you comfortable," he says, crossing his long legs, "But if you pass out before we can get what we want out of you… well, we all lose then."

Fair point. Still, I pull away each time he attempts to shove food my way. He perseveres for a while, much to my dismay, huffing every so often as he plays the grown up version of aeroplane with me. But when it's clear that I'm not going to eat his food any time soon, he shoves away.

I'm stubbornly sticking to my no food off of my captor rule, and I'm ashamed to admit that those memories that have been haunting me? They've turned into full blown hallucinations now. I swear I can hear the old coven scampering around the edges of the concrete room, occasionally coming close enough to breathe into my ear every so often. I flinch, I move away, but it's all for nought. They come back.

At least the dark means that I can't actually see them. I'm all about the silver linings.

Despite my stubbornness though, my body has different ideas, and my own thoughts are turning against me. I love food, I always have and I always will do, and with each passing hour it's becoming harder to stick to my self-inflicted starvation. Especially as I truly deliberate over what starving myself will bring me. The idea of rotting down here strictly opposes any ideas of escape. If I'm too weak and too out of it to move, how do I ever expect to break out of these goddamn chains?

Still, at this moment in time I'm still on the fence, and until I decide which side I'm going to jump down onto, I'm going to abstain from eating any food they give me. Which has its advantages considering they could be putting anything in the food, anything at all.

"Fine," Sam sighs, moving to the door, "Suit yourself." He turns the light off and locks the door, and I'm left alone again.

The next few visits are without any food. The hallucinations fluctuate, and with them the urge to kill Dean returns too. My levels of concentration are depleting at a rapid pace, so those hallucinations are a mixture of killing Dean, to visits to the past – either of which I do not enjoy.

When Dean next turns up after however many visits have occurred – honestly, I've lost count or I simply can't even count anymore – my ability to focus is severely compromised, to the point of where it's only after five minutes of complete and utter silence that I bother to acknowledge him again, because silence is my thing, not his.

He's pushed the ever present table closer to my position in the room, and the weapons are gone. When did they even go?

Who knows, who cares? Now it's covered in papers that he's sorting through, placing them in piles and looking over them.

My boredom is at an all-time high, and so is the headache currently pounding away in my skull. I need a distraction, something that will take my mind off of the gnawing hunger currently ravishing my insides.

"Can I… can I uh, ask you something?"

The hunter stops, looking up, his brows pulled together, "Um… that depends."

I refrain from rolling my eyes, mainly because each time that I do it feels like I'm scraping them across sand paper. I've struggled to sleep due to the fact that I'm almost permanently standing upright, and alongside the lack of food and water? The tension headache and bleary eyes mean that each time I close my eyes, I genuinely fall asleep for a few seconds, "You uh, you know that um… that ghost?" God, it's hard to keep track of my words. They fall out of my mouth uncoordinated.

"Which one?"

"The-" I cough, the sound dry, "The one you killed – burned or whatever, before you uh, before you shot me?"

Dean looks like he's in actual pain as he tries to follow what I'm saying, leaning forwards every time that I stumble across my words.

"How did you kill him?"

He leans back, brows knitting together, "Why do you want to know?"

I shrug, shoulders burning with the movement, "Dunno, jusssst curious."

I sound like I'm bloody drunk. God.

"We uh, we burnt the cash register. It was the old mans before he died, passed down to him by his dad. The family owned the shop – the gas station, and the register was the first one they ever had, given to him before he started pushing daisies."

"Oh," I say, looking down, "So it's all to do with… with sentimental stuff?"

He's slow to reply, hesitant even, "Yeah, something like that."

When the silence stretches on once again, it takes me a few seconds to realise that Dean is in fact still talking, and the silence is actually my own ignorance surfacing once again. The static like sound in my ears recedes as I focus on him.

"What?"

He sighs, "Why did you ask?"

I shrug, "Just wondered."

His voice is low, deeper than normal when he replies, "Odd thing to wonder about."

"I'm making conversation… It's a polite thing to do, Dean. You should try it sometime."

His smile is tight and I grin back slowly, ignoring the glare.

My curiosity is not sated though, especially now that he has my full attention.

"Is it hard? Being a hunter – uh, that is."

Dean looks up again, eyes flickering to the door before regarding me carefully. I can see the questions whirring away in his head, the cogs turning, trying to figure out my intentions behind the question, whether it's worth answering me or not.

For a while I don't think he will answer me, and my ability to remain focused on him is dwindling as the seconds tick by. But then he does.

"Yes and no."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Every time I utter the letter 's' it's stressed when it comes out of my mouth, like a terrible impression of a drunk snake. I cringe with each attempt at the sound.

He pauses, and I watch on as he glares down at the papers beneath his hands. Mainly because it's the only thing that I can really... well, do. Watching is how I pass the time now, considering I have literally nothing else to do.

Cas visits every other day to effectively restore my body to a clean state, which means no shower or toilet trips. Not that I have anything in my body to get rid of anyway, if we're being honest here. So that means no opportunities to plot an escape involving one of the aforementioned facilities.

And there's only so many cracks in the wall that I can count, only so many of opportunities of light that chase away the darkness my mind imposes on me.

So I wait for him to reply, ever the patient prisoner, feeling hollow as time stretches on.

"It means that there are times when it's worth it, times that make the hard stuff bearable. And then there are times when it's not worth it, and it makes you question what the hell it is that you're even trying to do here."

"Sounds like every other career in life."

He snorts, "Yeah? Well trust me when I say, when it's not worth it… hell, it can be the worst thing in the world."

I nod, and we lapse into silence again. A true silence, because when I look back at him his lips are not moving and he's back to frowning down at the table below him.

Which means I can zone out again, properly this time. Because paying attention is really taking a toll on me.

Except his lips are incredibly distracting.

Now that I'm looking at Dean, I find that it's hard to look away, something that's becoming worse as my time spent here stretches on. There's no denying that Dean's an attractive guy – scratch that, he's gorgeous, no doubt about it, there's no other way to describe it. He's pretty. But the staring is not just born out of admiration of his looks, no, it fuels something else inside of me.

Something that wants to see blood.

The longer I stare, the harder it is to breathe.

He frowns when he notices me though, and it snaps me out of the lust hazed spell and I look away, feeling all types of awkward.

This is the man I am going to kill. I cannot think about how attractive he is, and the only reason I'm thinking about that in the first place is because I am literally on the brink of severe dehydration.

I won't die permanently from starvation, nor will I die permanently from dehydration. No, instead my body will simply cease to function for a period of time before reviving itself, a process that's repeated until I can eat or drink again.

It's about as gruelling as one can imagine, and it's a process that I've only ever had to endure once before, when the bitch was testing the ways I can die and ultimately resurrect myself. Which is about as fun as shoving splinters under your nails is.

So that's what I have to look forward to now.

My existence is just one big joke.

"What about you, huh?"

I look up, frowning, "What?"

"What's it like to be you?"

The question throws me for a second and I almost scoff as I take it in, but Dean's expression is open, honestly curious.

It's surprising because I think this is the first time he's asked me a question that doesn't revolve around the witches or the curse. But my attention span is lacking, so all of those questions have been ignored. When I'm not completely focused on the hunter I tend to just… zone out, become completely oscitant. But now, I devote my attention to him.

Because what is it like to be me, truly?

"It's…" My throat feels extra dry now, "It's draining."

His brows rise, and it takes me a few seconds to realise just how honest I was. I swallow thickly, looking away. I need to stop talking. Hunger makes me honest.

But every time I do stop talking I tend to disappear into the void of my own thoughts, which amplifies the clawing in my stomach, the desperation for food.

When it growls for what must be the thirtieth time in the last ten minutes, Dean sighs and pushes away from the table. I watch the movement through hooded eyes – I don't really have the energy to keep them open. I think lack of water is the main problem here. They say you die faster from dehydration.

I'm going to have to find some way out of this mess, and soon. It's my own fault for landing in it anyway. I delayed killing Dean for far too long, and now look at me. Tied up in their fucking basement, scared of the dark, starving to an inevitable death and reanimation.

Maybe I wanted this.

The thought is a little startling, and I shove it to the back of my mind. Now's not the time for a little bit of self-reflection. I don't need another thing to drive me insane.

Dean walks out of the room without offering any explanation, and I'm left to watch the door, teetering on the edge of consciousness. I have no idea how many minutes or hours pass by before the smell of heaven breaches my personal space. I look up involuntarily, seeking out the source of the smell as I scan the room.

Dean steps into the concrete prison seconds later, and a burger rests on a plate in his hand.

Goose bumps rise the closer he gets, and with energy I didn't know I possessed I push back, edging away as far as I can go. The chains pull on my wrists, cold and sharp, preventing me from going any further, so I push up on my tiptoes, leaning back.

He rolls his eyes as he advances, the smell intensifying and I raise a lip. My stomach growls loudly, the traitorous bitch, but I'm too suspicious. He hasn't brought me food before, not even once. And I'm still not answering their questions, even the mundane ones like what I did before the witches had me.

So who's to say he hasn't poisoned it? After all, he poisoned the bullets, the ones that weakened me enough to put me in this position in the first place. I still don't know how they managed to get a poison that could slow me down to such an extraordinary level.

But that's what I would do, if torture didn't work. I would definitely poison food, speaking tactfully.

I'm not going to eat it. Fuck that, fuck being poisoned and fuck losing my dignity. This is another tactic of theirs, a way to test out if I'll die from ingesting it or something.

Or maybe I'm delirious, which is not exactly a preposterous explanation. Either way, I pull away again as he stops a few inches away from me.

"Here."

I wrinkle my nose, looking down at it in all its golden bun perfection and fresh salad innards. The chains rattle and I have to physically stop myself from reaching forwards, gritting my teeth. Not that I can reach it anyway.

Dean frowns a little, and I huff.

"How do you expect me to eat it, Einstein?"

Two flattering shades of red begin to colour the upper portions of his high cheekbones as he looks down, and he coughs, "Oh, yeah."

I roll my eyes, sighing, "It's a good job that I don't want your food anyway."

His head jerks up, "And why the hell not?"

I jut my chin out, "Because."

"You want to just waste away then?"

I shrug, voice especially rough when it next comes out, "Like the burger isn't poisoned anyway… Go away."

He looks at me incredulously, mouth falling open a little before he huffs, apparently very offended if the look on his face means anything, "It ain't poisoned! Goddamn it, here – look," he takes a generous bite out of it and I watch on, pained as he chews. The green eyed monster darkens my vision, jealousy clawing through my veins.

But that's not the only thing slugging through my body at the moment, no, an unquenchable thirst joins it too. A lust for something other than food and water. A lust for blood, one that heightens as his heartbeat begins to play in my ears, a symphony that I cannot hope to ignore.

The hunger and the thirst just amplify the feeling, antagonising it, morphing it into a prolonged agony that can only be soothed by his blood being spilled, and my mouth falls open a bit.

Dean's isn't looking at me, but when he swallows he finally glances up, thrusting the burger my way. It breaks through the murderous spell and I blink, looking down at the food.

Stubbornness dictates that I decline the meal. Dean rolls his eyes, moving closer as I look away. Shadows block the light as he moves into my personal space once again, towering over me as his fresh scent invades my nose.

"Here, see – no poison in here. Come on," he waves the burger under my nose a little, eyes lighting up with something – amusement, maybe? "I'll even feed it to you."

Does he not know that his brother offered the same service not too long ago?

Apparently not, but my eyes water as the hot meal demands my attention again, and my resolve shatters the moment the hunger rears its ugly head.

If I don't eat, I'll waste away. And if I waste away? What hope do I have of ever escaping this place?

I need my strength, even if that means I have to literally eat out of their hands. But they'll pay for it, later on down the line. They'll definitely pay for this.

I mentally wave goodbye to my pride and dignity before opening my mouth, the movement lazy and triumph dances across his face. I almost want to snap it shut, the amused expression is just too much, but the moment the burger touches my lips I surrender whole heartedly.

Ignoring the silence as Dean watches me, I ignore the awkwardness of the situation too, taking my time. Lord knows what happens if I don't, if I try to inhale the food immediately after a bout of starvation. The food is too rich and too filling to eat safely, and even as I take tender bites the urge to throw up rises.

Last time this happened I practically ate an entire kitchens worth of food almost instantaneously after she finally let me eat. And I promptly emptied the contents of my stomach afterwards. Apparently my stomach was too sensitive, and despite the need to keep it down, to survive, my body reacted badly. God, did it react badly.

So baby steps. Hurried baby steps, but baby steps nonetheless.

Dean's silent the entire time, patient as I eat and I only meet his eyes once. They're soft, softer than I imagined they would be, and I have to look away from then on.

When I finish I sigh, leaning back as I lick my lips. Dean raises a brow but doesn't comment as he takes the plate away, disappearing out the door moments later.

It leaves me to contemplate over my next moves anyway. I can't just lay around here forever – or, to put it more accurately, stand around here forever.

I'm going to have to get myself out of this situation, because I doubt anyone will be coming for me, not even the witches. They wouldn't risk it.

Which brings up the question – what are the witches up to?

It's definitely been a week I think, I'd even hazard a guess and say it's closer to two since my disappearance, although keeping time is hard. But surely they've attempted to contact me at least once by now, and discovered that I'm not answering their calls. I'm surprised they haven't tried a summoning. Or maybe they have, and the chains are preventing my departure.

Dean returns shortly, and he rubs his hands together, "So, where were we?"

"You were about to let me go."

He snorts, "Nice try. Now that you're fed though, why don't you tell me something about yourself? Maybe start with the whole… encased in stone thing you had going on, you know, before they hired you."

Hired? More like enslaved.

I shrug, "Not much to say. Once I finish a job, if they don't sacrifice something in time I turn to rock again."

Whoops.

Okay, did not mean to say that.

I frown. My honesty is a little surprising, but my slip up from earlier looms over my head too, reminding me that this is not the first time I've been honest with the hunter before me. It's something about him.

I regret the honesty immediately though, especially when a smile graces Dean's lips. Did he put some truth serum or something in my food after all?

No, I don't think so, otherwise he would be under its effect too.

Call it tiredness then. Even though I'm feeling a little better now that I've eaten, the presence of food is not going to cure all of my ailments instantaneously.

"Oh yeah? So when you finish the – the job? They have to kill something to-"

"Use me again, yes," I finish for him, nodding, "But it can't be just anything. No typical, run of the mill sacrificing of cows here. It has to have meaning behind it. Can't be a death of a stranger, has to be a loved one usually, or someone you feel strongly about. Or it has to be a lot."

"A lot?"

"Yeah, like… for the curse to be satisfied a lot of people have to die. It's all about the satisfaction of the curse."

Someone gag me, please.

He nods, looking away, "Okay, okay. So if I've got this right, say if you kill me, they would have to then kill someone else – someone they know or love, or kill a lot people – to then use you again, otherwise you pull a Dwayne Johnson."

Who the hell is Dwayne Johnson?

"I don't understand that reference, but yeah, the rest is correct."

He smiles, waiting for me to continue but I refrain from further elaborating, from revealing that that's not all there is too it, not at all and not by a long shot.

"God, if I'd've known you'd have been this chatty after a burger, I would've made you one days ago."

I scowl, "Fuck you."

He holds his hands up, grinning, "Hey now, language," he pauses once again, tongue pulling on his bottom lip before continuing, "So, you kill me, how long do they have to do this sacrifice, you know, before you turn into stone?"

I shrug, "Don't know, not telling."

He grins coyly, "Oh come on, and I thought we were finally getting somewhere. Is it an hour? No… Two? Is it a whole day?" he stops, and I must have done something because he nods, "So it's a twenty four hour window then."

Goddamn it.

My mouth is running and it really needs to stop. I need to keep it shut. Not that the aforementioned information is of any particular import, but it's the satisfaction he seems to gain from my revelations that grate on me.

"Don't expect anything else out of me, Winchester. Don't forget that you're one way ticket to death is going to be punched real soon."

"Stop, please, I'm practically shaking over here."

I scoff, looking away, "You should be, because I'm going to drag it out. I'm going to make you beg for death."

Rough fingers pull my face back to his, holding my chin in a tight grip, "Wanna say that again, darlin'?"

I smile, delighted when my canines punch down, fangs lengthening, breaking through the choke hold the cuffs previously had on them, "Gladly. Your days are numbered Dean, and I suggest that you truly savour them. 'Cos when I get out of here – and trust me, I will get out of here – I'm going to rip you apart."

He practically throws my face away as he shoves back, his mouth a flat line, "So you keep saying, but I'm yet to see any evidence of this. So far you're all mouth, girl."

I raise my brows, "All mouth – after that scene in the alleyway?" I scoff, "And yet you insist on ignoring me."

He shrugs, "Can you blame me? So far we've had – no, we _have_ the upper hand."

"So far… but what happens when I lose control, huh? What happens when it takes over? Because trust me, it will do. What will you do then?"

Oh shit. I shouldn't have said that.

So far the Winchesters have been ignorant to the full effects the curse has on me, and my inability to keep the curse on a leash after a certain length of time has passed. And Dean's eyes widen with the new piece of information.

I need to shut the hell up.

This is how he's doing it, he's riling me up, baiting me into answering him. And I'm falling for it hook, line and sinker, because I'm too tired to care.

"You'll lose control? So this thing, it will eventually take over? Like some kind of mind control?"

I refuse to answer, pressing my lips together as he advances towards me.

"It is, isn't it? The curse, that's another way it works, to make sure you uh, to make sure that you do whatever they want you to do – otherwise you would just walk away."

"Well, I wouldn't walk away from killing you now."

He laughs.

"Go away."

"Oh hell no, there's no way in hell I'm leaving you now sweetheart, not when you're this chatty."

Fuck this.

When he comes close I lunge forwards, or at least I try to. The closest I get is a clawed attempt at his face, which of course is nowhere near him considering my arms are shackled above my head. And it's not particularly threatening either, because despite my fangs being able to penetrate the embrace of the chains, my claws can't. The aforementioned chains rattle as I jerk forwards, teeth bared and he suppresses his grin, dancing just out of reach.

I relax instantly, sighing before dropping my head.

"Please just leave me alone."

His bottom lip pushes out, "Don't be like that."

I sigh, "Listen, the only reason I'm telling you any of this is because…" I pause, looking up, "Because I'm half dead as it is. I can guarantee you now that you won't be getting anything else out of me."

There's a stubborn set to his jaw as he ignores me, pressing for more information with a fresh set of taunts but they bounce off of me.

It's another half an hour before he finally relents, sighing before running a hand across the back of his neck.

Apparently admitting defeat, he leaves the room, taking all of his papers with him before turning the dreaded light off.

Now that I've eaten though, the hunger bouts lessen dramatically. My ability to focus on the flashbacks increases, and my weakness stares me back in the face.

God, I'm so goddamn weak. I folded like a cheap lawn chair when he asked those questions, and I sigh into the darkness.

Fuck.

* * *

Dean enters the library, a smirk playing on his lips as his brother acknowledges him with a nod, barely glancing up from the book perched on his lap.

Castiel also appears to be deeply invested in a book, although when is the angel not deeply invested into something? The guy probably can't take a shit without scrutinising the methodology behind his vessels and the human races basic needs.

"I got something."

This causes them to stir, and they both rise as he approaches, forgetting their earlier ignorance.

"Really?" Sam says, closing his book, "How? It's been two weeks."

Dean waggles his brows, plopping down into one of the vacant chairs bordering the table, "Must be my charm."

"Yeah, of course it is."

"I also gave her a burger. But pair that up with my animal magnetism – she couldn't resist."

Sam scoffs, "I offered her a salad a few days ago and she said no."

Dean frowns, "Well, yeah Sammy. Salads are disgusting."

Sam looks ready to argue but Castiel cuts them off, leaning forwards, "What is this new piece of information you have for us, Dean?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean says, also leaning forwards, "Well, it turns out that the curse will eventually take over, causing her to lose all self-control."

Silence falls over the trio as the two others digest the information, only interrupted by the occasional buzz of the overhead lights.

"You realise that this does not bode well for you," Cas finally says, eyes grave.

"How so?"

"If she is in fact, in control of the curse at this very moment, then that means that she has been in complete control of it before hand, and has refrained from killing you because of her own choosing. But if this curse will eventually override her ability to abstain from killing you, then…"

"Then I'm a dead man?"

Cas nods, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Like I didn't know that before. Which is why we need to figure out a way to stop the curse before she offs me."

Sam nods eventually, "This does help us, though."

Cas frowns, but waits for the younger Winchester to elaborate.

"Now that we know the curse takes over her mind, we can start looking for any literature on that-" Sam ignores the groan Dean offers at the idea of more research, "Cas, you could ask your angel buddies too, see if this new bit of info is recognised by any of them."

Cas nods, sitting back.

Sam glances back at Dean, "She say anything else?"

Dean nods, "She also mentioned something about a sacrifice. After she kills me, if the witches want to use her again they have to sacrifice a loved one, or sacrifice a truck load of people to satisfy the curse."

"What happens if they don't sacrifice someone?"

Dean grins, "Then she turns back into stone, or whatever it was that encased her before we got there."

The other two pause, taking in Dean's smile. When concern begins to contort their features Dean sighs, leaning back.

"Come on, you've got to know that this is good news. Even if she does kill me, at least you two can make sure that she won't kill anyone else if you can stop the witches from sacrificing some poor sap."

"It shouldn't come to that," Sam says, voice low.

"I know, Sammy, I know. But silver linings, you know?"

"How is it a silver lining? All this means is that if we actually manage to get the curse lifted off of you, then we also have to worry about some sacrifice as well now, to prevent them from just renewing the curse."

Dean frowns, "I uh, I didn't think of that… but still! At least there's a way to prevent this from happening again, even if the worse does happen."

"Which it won't," Sam snaps, before turning to Cas, "You have any input on this?"

Castiel frowns, "Dean has always been one to focus on scenarios that surround his death, rather than the ones that surround his survival."

Dean scoffs, looking away. Why do they have to ruin his good mood? He's finally gotten something out of her, after two weeks of hard work and grafting, and they just have to piss on his bonfire.

"We should focus our efforts on breaking the curse, and preventing the witches from finding a sacrifice to reactivate it."

Dean refrains from pointing out the fact that this is obvious to the angel, instead he settles on merely nodding his head, "So why don't you take the express escalator to the pearly gates, and ask the choir boys if they know anything about this new piece of information?"

Cas inclines his head, "If by choir boys you mean my brethren, then I will do so."

A heavy silence falls onto the group after this, because despite the progress tonight, it's been two weeks and this is the only thing they've managed to wrestle out of her. Which is just way too long for such little results.

Cas is apparently on the same page, as he frowns a little before speaking, "Our lack of progress with Evelyn is troubling."

"I'll say," Dean mutters, twisting his phone in his hand. The edge nudges the table with each flip.

"And you say that she has not responded to… to torture?"

Sam looks at the angel now, the early signs of a frown playing across his forehead. It's no secret that Sam doesn't like the prospect of Dean torturing Eve, and Dean shuffles in his seat, scratching his jaw, refusing to meet their eyes.

"I uh… I was going to torture her, but-" Dean glances towards his younger brother before looking away, "She uh, she didn't really respond, no. She doesn't care about physical pain."

Cas grunts, but there is also a degree of relief swirling within the depths of his eyes, too. No one wants him to torture anyone, and apparently Sam and Cas are in cahoots on this.

Which shouldn't bother Dean as much as it does, because all that it suggests to him is that they think he's not strong enough to handle it. But he knows that's not the case, that's not what they think.

And to be honest, Dean's relieved. Been there, done that, got the damn t-shirt – hell, got the whole damn store.

"What else can we try though, besides waiting her out?" Sam says.

Dean shrugs, "Could bribe her? She seemed to respond after food."

"Yeah, well, that could be because she was on edge of starvation."

Fair point. The trio look down at the table, lost in their own thoughts.

"Either way, we'll have to do something soon. She uh, she was able to get her fangs out today."

Sam looks up sharply, hair whipping out of his face, "Oh, hell. Really?"

Dean nods, "They came out, and before that, just before I was about to feed her the burger – her eyes were going crazy. Like, this dark layer seemed to swirl over her eyes, trying to break through. Not fully black, but definitely half way there."

Not good.

"So her powers are… what? Starting push through?"

Dean shrugs, "Looks that way."

Sam turns to Cas, "I thought the cuffs would render her powerless."

The old angel nods slowly, eyes flickering between the brothers, "They will, and they have. However, that's not say that her powers will not manifest in other ways. Although subdued, they may still appear. But they are not a threat."

"Will she be able to break out of the cuffs?"

Cas shakes his head, "No, never. Nothing can escape them."

Sam sighs, leaning back, "Okay. So, we'll keep an eye on her, keep grilling her about the witches and the curse, throw in a few bribes along the way – you ask your angel friends about her, and everyone keep an eye out for any books or anything on the curse."

Cas nods, inclining his head before disappearing with a ruffle of feathers.

Silence descends upon the two brothers and for a few seconds neither of them say anything, content to deliberate over their next steps.

"We need to find another way, Dean – she clearly isn't talking."

Dean nods, sighing, "I know, we'll think of something though, we always do," and with that the elder Winchesters stands, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck once again. He nods to his brother, before heading to his room.

Sam watches him go, concern colouring his thoughts. Dean has never been one to take anything that will threaten his life seriously, and that's no different now.

He just hopes they can find something in time, before Eve really does make good on her promises.


	15. Chapter 14: Heavenly Surprise

**Okay guys,**

 **I got way too carried away with this one, but I hope you like it!**

 **Thank you for the reviews! They genuinely make my day :)!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **14: Heavenly Surprise**

They're definitely trying to get on my good side, there's no doubt about that. They're going the wrong way about it, but the effort itself is amusing.

The gourmet meals are starting to become ridiculous now, though.

They come down here, spouting off a load of bull about the witches before trying to trick me into revealing something about them or myself. And then they present these delicious meals, like I'm some kind of dog that's going to salivate over it. Too bad I've lost my appetite, and too bad that I've also got a hold on my renegade tongue.

After the slip up with Dean I've remained tight lipped thus far, refusing to speak. Besides the occasional eye roll and scoff, I let them do the talking. And unbeknownst to them, they actually reveal a hell of a lot about themselves in the meantime. Nothing too interesting, but I catalogue it all, just in case it comes in handy sometime in the future.

Like, for instance; Deans favourite meal (I can definitely poison him that way) and Sam's insistence on a healthy alternative, and both of their obsessions with hunting. Seriously, they live and breathe that shit.

What's troubling me most though, disregarding their mundane topics of conversation, is the rising urge to slice into Dean's jugular. Every time he steps into my space the urge to kill surfaces like a bad headache, invading my thoughts, and each time I panic. My heart has a mind of its own, racing uninhibitedly. Fear, I think – that's what it is. Because the slideshow of death starring our very own Dean Winchester means only one thing.

I've ran out of time.

That's it. I'm done.

Once I'm out of these chains I won't stand a chance. I'll go for him, I know I will. Which also means that the chains may be a good thing after all. At least they're stopping more blood from being spilled onto my hands.

The cuffs don't seem as cold now, they don't seem as restrictive. A welcome prison, maybe.

I don't know, maybe I'm just searching for those silver linings.

Either way, I still don't reply when they insist upon questioning me. Even now, when they both attend our daily meetings.

They stand either side of me, leaning against a table or chair. Dean is forever looking stoically angry, with his arms folded tightly across his chest as he frowns down at his shoes, and Sam remains the concerned, bordering on kind citizen opposite his brother, his hands interlocked on his lap, a pensive look on his face.

"How do we end the curse?"

There's the million dollar question once again, and I am sick of hearing those six words. I roll my head Dean's way, because it feels too heavy to support now. I'm tired, and bored. Looking at him through hooded eyes, I sigh.

"Tell us how to end it, Evelyn. And then we can let you go."

Sam's the one to speak this time and the sigh drags on, escaping my lips for much longer than necessary as I face him again.

"This can only end one way," he continues, brow furrowing, "And that's with you dead. We've faced a lot of things in our time, and you're definitely not the worst of them."

Oh really?

The confession peaks my interest and I raise a brow, breaking my no talking rule, "What have you faced?"

The two brothers share a look, that silent communication occurring between them again. Sam eventually acknowledges me.

"The apocalypse, for starters."

"Ooo, sounds… ominous."

The apocalypse? I always miss the exciting things when I'm out of the picture.

"What else?" I press.

"None of your business."

I roll my eyes, "No need to be so rude, Dean. I'm only asking, after all, you guys were the ones to bring it up. Come on, share with the class. We've got all day.

"No, we don't!" Dean snaps, stepping away from the table with a push, "I'm sick of this bullshit. Just tell us what we need to know and then we can go our separate ways."

"You think it's that easy?" I say, my voice a low, even tone.

He exhales through his nose, throwing Sam a long look.

"Nothing about this is easy, boys. You're both in way over your heads, so why don't we call it a day."

They look pissed, and they fight me for a little while but exhaustion mars both of their features. They're quick to snap back at me, and they leave shortly after that. Clearly someone needs their eight hours.

I'm left to once again stare at the metal door, the shape coming into focus once my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I genuinely think my vision is becoming accustomed to the dark, considering I've spent about 80% of my time in it.

It's a good thing, because the vague shapes centre me here, they keep me sane. Except for when they don't. Sometimes those shapes morph, change into something new, and that's when I close my eyes. Not going down that lane.

But each time I close my eyes, sleep begins to pull at my mind. Even standing up, I take small power naps. Or maybe I pass out, that seems like a more apt description. Sleeping is difficult in this position. It's why my head feels like it's full of cotton wool.

The only thing I look forward to now is Castiels visits because then it's bath time – gag. But seriously though, the man is a God send. Despite the fact that it still weirds me out, I appreciate his manipulations the most, more so than anything else the boys can offer me. Cleanliness is something that I crave and I shiver as the light flickers on, an abrupt but welcome interruption. It must have been a few hours since the boys were down here, because Sam comes down looking a little better, less tired. Castiel appears in the room a moment later, the tell-tale ruffle of feathers signalling his arrival.

It's not a surprise per se, but what is a surprise is the newcomer he's decided to bring along.

Sam seems to think so too, because he blinks before frowning at the middle aged woman, "Uh, Cas? Who's that?"

Castiel steps forwards, motioning towards the woman, "This is Annalise, an angel. She may know something about Evelyn, but she insisted upon meeting her before-hand in order to confirm any information."

I frown, jerking back a little. Castiel never brings friends, he's usually alone, barring the accompaniment of one of the Winchesters every once in a while. And even they leave quickly, leaving the angel and me alone once they've decided I'm not a danger to their angel friend.

My skin crawls, and I notice why a second later. The woman is burning two metaphorical holes through my skull, the weight of her gaze is fierce and uncomfortable. Angels apparently are not aware of social cues. I offer a curious glare back, because the icy stare I feel is a little unwarranted.

I don't recognise her at all.

If this woman – sorry, if this angel has information on me, then she learnt it from somebody else.

Her eyes are lifeless as they bore into my own, a dull grey that's flat and empty, cold. She looks like she's about to pick up the kids from pre-school, or at least attend mass.

Not exactly angel material, but then again who am I to judge? Cas doesn't exude a heavenly persona either. And if they're anything like any other supernatural creature in this world, they will pick the most unassuming character as a disguise. Demons do the same most of the time, the smart ones do anyway. Picking soft looking targets, it allows you to deceive others for longer – if you look weak, others will naturally assume that you're weak. Then you show them just how strong you really are, after lulling them into a false sense of security.

Although something oozes out of her pores, something that reminds me of Castiel, but different.

Her own power, maybe?

One power acknowledging the other?

"I don't think this is the best-" Sam begins, but Castiel holds up a hand.

"I assure you that Annalise and I will join you two upstairs once we have finished with Evelyn, and I will relay the events to you once we have seen to her. There is no need to worry, Sam."

Sam looks like he wants to argue, and with the way the new angels face is contorting into something… angry, something that resembles pure, unadulterated hate as she continues to openly glare at me, I kind of want him to. But of course the hunter eventually relents, ducking out of the room with a wary nod, leaving me at the mercy of two angels.

"So…" I eventually say, the silence suffocating.

Castiel moves towards me, pressing a warm hand against my shoulder. It's only a brief second of contact, but the familiar flash of warmth that dances across my body has me sighing, and I feel a lot lighter when he steps away, a lot cleaner.

"Thank you," I say, the British part of me forcing the words out.

The exchange doesn't seem to go unnoticed by his friend, as her eyes flicker between the two of us as Castiel moves to her side again, his mouth a flat line.

"You… offer her luxuries?"

Her voice is as dead as her eyes, and I blink; I wouldn't say hygiene is merely a luxury, I'd argue it was a necessity. A basic right.

Castiel shifts from one foot to the other before lifting one shoulder, "She agreed to talk if she was clean."

Annalise frowns. She's definitely not happy with his answer.

Her scent chooses that moment to surround me a little, touching on the very tip of my nose. A pine scent, laced with something else, something familiar. It triggers a spark in the back of my mind, an inkling – a thread of recognition that slips out of my grasp the moment I try to latch onto it. Maybe I do know her after all.

"Castiel, may I have a moment alone with your prisoner?"

A frown pulls Castiels brows together, and he stares at the new angel in the room, some silent war occurring between the two. It's like Sam and Dean all over again, and I have to watch the transaction occur, non-the-wiser.

"Very well. I will be outside-"

"Please, that isn't necessary. You may join the Winchester brothers upstairs. I will be up shortly, and I will tell you what I know."

I glance at Castiel, because surely he's not going to just leave me down here with this crazy bitch. She's clearly harbouring some ill feelings towards me.

Few emotions play across his face, but that's nothing new. I can tell that he doesn't think it's a great idea either, though, but they must be desperate for information because a second later he nods, and then he disappears.

I stare at the space he once occupied, scowling.

What a bitch. Now I'm stuck down here with the ice queen incarnate.

She waits a few seconds before moving, probably trying to build an atmosphere, to exude a particular persona, and I watch as she takes a few slow, calculated steps towards me. When she's a foot or so away she stops, and I straighten, raising a brow.

"Do you recognise me?"

Her question throws me, and although she's the same height, the age in her eyes makes me feel young. Yet despite the old nature behind her stare, nothing comes to mind.

"No."

My answer is obviously the wrong one, because her features tighten instantly. Those cold eyes narrow, and I squint. What could cause such a reaction?

"How is it that after all you have done – after the amount of pain and chaos you have caused – you still do not recognise me?"

I shrug, "Bad memory. You're not particularly memorable. Take your pick?"

The slap is fast and blinding, a starburst of pain that sends me sprawling to the right in a flash, and if it weren't for the chains I would be on the floor right now. Blood coats my teeth a second later, a sprinkle from my lip, leaving a bitter, copper taste in my mouth.

When I turn to face her, I run my tongue across the new wound, sucking in my lip, "Well, that seemed uncalled for."

"Uncalled for?" She spits, and honestly I am so confused right now. Who is she? Why is she so angry? "Uncalled for? You wretched piece of filth. You caused an entire battalion of angels to fall."

I raise my lip, "Um, no I didn't?"

I would remember that. At least, I think I would. Hell, I didn't even know that angels existed until a few months ago. Castiel is the first angel I have ever encountered.

I see the backhanded slap this time, but awareness of the blow doesn't really do me much good. I mean, I don't have much room to manoeuvre out of the way. The slap sends me the other way this time, and the opposite cheek burns fiercely, throbbing.

"Lady, you slap me again and-"

She laughs, "And you'll… what? You'll kill me? When you're tied up, powerless?"

She has a point. I send a scathing look up at the chains before facing her again, standing up.

"You are nothing now, and I have a chance to prove that thanks to Castiel."

"Wait – wait, before you start rearranging my face, can you at least tell me how you know me? I've never seen another angel before Castiel."

She lowers her raised hand, brows knitting together, "You have met many angels in your time."

"No, no, I – I definitely haven't," I say, shaking my head, "Trust me, before him I didn't even know that they existed, never mind walked the earth."

"You may not have been aware of their presence or their existence for that matter, but you have fought and killed them before. In your time with the demons, when they had their civil war."

I blink, because I remember that time all too well. Two high level demons having a pissing contest over different areas of hell. One side was losing, so that side enslaved me. What I remember specifically about it though is the fact that it was demon exclusive. It was in hell, after all.

"Why were angels involved in the civil war?"

She smiles now, the twist in her mouth dirty, evil. Which confuses the hell out of me. Angels are supposed to be good, right?

"We have our reasons."

And apparently that is the end of our mostly civil conversation, because her delicate fist meets my jaw with a solid thwack. The punch rattles my brain, it snaps my teeth together hard. The shocking thing though is the power behind the blow, because the housewife exterior really betrays the strength she's hiding.

She packs a mean punch, an angel's punch, and I'm pretty sure my jaw is broken or at the very least fractured.

She doesn't stop after that, and besides hunching in on myself I can't stop her either. She just throws punch after punch, fist connecting with my face with mindless abandon. There's nothing in her eyes except bloodlust, even as the blue light begins to radiate from the centre. Blood coats her knuckles after a while, and the blue light becomes tinged with red as my own blood leaks into my eyes.

I grunt with each blow, my legs giving out after the seventh or eighth consecutive slam of her fist.

Blood dribbles from my lip, dropping onto the floor. My vision is a patchy mess of red and black, and her hands – they're still ice cold as they find their new target, despite the warmth of my blood. She grabs my chin, forcing me to look up.

"You will pay for their deaths," she spits, and round two begins. I guess my face is too much of a mess, because she moves onto my body and I can only a groan or two here and there as she beats me, a relentless pace that doesn't stop. Ribs crack audibly, scratching things on the inside that should not be scratched. I want to throw up, but instead I cough up more blood, squeezing my eyes shut as the pain begins to lessen, as things go numb.

My body heals, but her attacks are faster than any ability I harbour at the moment, and with the cuffs dampening my powers I'm helpless. The injuries alone I can deal with, but all of them together? When I'm already weak? They culminate into one overbearing thing, and after a while my body stops trying to knit itself together, it lets her have her fun.

It's just a bit too much, like being mortally wounded without the serenity of death at the end. Usually I can escape, heal someplace else but now? I'm forced to stay here, to let her bring me to the brink of death.

I don't know when I finally collapse, officially spent as leg muscles refuse to cooperate. All I can do is stare at the blood spattered ground, my wrists bearing the brunt of my weight now. It should hurt, it doesn't though.

Even through the ringing in my ears I hear her step back.

Something sharp sounding follows the muted footsteps, a zing of metal that drags my attention upwards. I blink, blood seeping out of – out of everywhere, it seems.

Somehow I can meet her eyes, simultaneously cursing the Winchesters and Castiel, and cursing this clearly insane bitch.

"You realise… Once I'm out of these chains… Once I've killed them, I'm gonna kill you."

She doesn't respond, and a glint catches my eye.

In her hand is a weapon I have never seen the likes of before, a blade that gleams silver in the light. Even triangular sides, a tapered edge… I frown, ignoring the responding burn that bursts across my brow from the movement.

"This is vengeance for those you have killed. For those you have wrongfully sacrificed."

"You've already said that," I mutter, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

She steps forwards, fire in her gaze as she spins the blade in her grip. A slender hand wraps around my throat, the contact smarting across the delicate skin. She pulls me up until I can barely reach the floor with my tip toes, and if breathing was hard before it's almost impossible now. My chest burns, desperate for oxygen and I try to suck a breath in, but her hand is like a fucking manacle around my throat, cutting everything off.

Despite this though, despite the dizzying weakness I still smile down at her. Because if I hurt her, I'm glad. No, I'm ecstatic. She's breathing hard, eyes wild, and I know it's because of me, "Do your worst, bitch."

She grits her teeth, and then the blade penetrates me, just below my ribs, deep. So deep I think it's gone out of the other end.

I inhale sharply, the sound wet, guttural as all the other injuries pale in comparison.

She twists the blade deeper, pulling a grimace from my face, but I refuse to look away, forcing the smile back into place.

"What the hell?!"

The familiar deep voice startles us both. Two sets of hands drag her back, Sam and Dean appearing out of nowhere.

As soon as she lets go I drop in the chains, the cuffs digging straight into bone or so it feels like, just adding to the cacophony of issues I'm going to have to deal with later. Everything pulses, throbbing in tandem with my heart.

The two brothers strong arm her into the corner of the room, slamming her into the wall before pinning her there. She fights tooth and nail, and they're slowly losing the battle to keep her there.

Dean glances over his shoulder just as Castiel appears, overcoat billowing as he comes to a stop, "Cas! Get your damn friend!"

Cas looks confused, but so am I. I swear I don't remember a thing about her, or this supposed show down I had with some angels.

Snapping out of his confusion, Cas rushes over to the other angel. She's practically rabid now as her eyes fall on me, "She should be dead! The angel blade should have killed her!"

An angel blade? Nice.

The aforementioned blade is still currently embedded in my mid-section, which kills my admiration for it a little bit. The red of my blood contrasts with the silver as I look down at it, harsh in this light. Simply acknowledging the blade sends a wave of ice cold pain down my front, the muscles tightening around it involuntarily, wrenching a gasp from my lips.

Castiel grasps the woman by the bicep, his eyes flashing to me, "Annalise! Stop this! This is _not_ what we agreed."

Her glare could make grown men cry, but Castiel glares right on back, mimicking my attempt as his jaw sets, "I'm sorry, Dean. I will… I will remover her. And then I'll come back to heal Evelyn."

She screeches but they're already gone, the sound echoing in the room.

Sam and Dean sag, breathing ragged, the only thing interrupting the now deafening silence. Apparently holding an angel back is harder than it looks.

Blinking through the scarlet veil, it's a few seconds before they approach me. And I flinch back a little as they do, cursing the reaction. Dean is the closest, his hands raised as he breathes hard, as if he's approaching a wild animal. When he's close enough he stares down at me, mouth pressed into a tight line.

"Sammy, help her up man," he says, and Sam moves behind me. His hands go around my sides gently, almost not touching before he settles them on the sides of my ribs, encompassing a good section of my body as he lifts. I groan, I can't help it, blood causing the sound to come out gurgled. As my weight settles onto his hands, sharp stabs of pain radiate around the blade, like a cramp but ten times worse.

It fucking hurts, and if I wasn't currently struggling to keep my food down I would demand that he put me down. The longer he holds me, the worse I feel.

I barely have the energy to look up, but when I do I meet Dean's eyes. They draw me out of the haze for a moment.

"This is going to hurt," he says, and I frown.

His hand goes for the blade and as soon as it settles on the hilt I hiss. Any small movement feels like he's cutting a cavern into my chest. It becomes infinitely worse when he begins to pull it out, a sickening, sucking feeling following it.

At least he's smart about it – it's like a band aid, just rip that fucker off. Seeing my glare, he yanks it the rest of the way out and I groan, following the movement before I catch myself. I'm thankful though.

Blood funnels out onto the floor, slowing to a continuous drip a moment later.

Dean weighs the blade in his hands before looking over my shoulder, "Sammy, go get a – go get a bed or something, you know, one of the ones in the supply-"

Sam is clearly already on the job because he sets me down gently, before jogging out of the room. I swallow the groan that threatens to slip out the moment my weight settles back onto my feet again, and I feel like Bambi as my knees shake. If I rest against the cuffs and apply most of the weight to my wrists it helps, so I opt to do that instead.

Dean watches my struggle through heavy eyes, still holding the blade. He doesn't offer any help, but he doesn't shove it back into my gut either, which is always a good sign.

"Well," I finally say, voice a little scratchy, "That sucked ass."

The corners of his lips tilt up, a breath of air puffing out of his nose as amusement dances in those jade eyes. The amusements fades quickly though, disappearing into nothing as he begins to catalogue the damage the angel from hell did.

Scraping alerts us to Sam's presence, and Dean turns to his brother. Sam's pushing in a metal bed that's seen better days, but who am I to complain now. It looks sturdy enough, if not a little prison-esque. The metal bottoms scrape against the concrete floors, setting my teeth on edge but Dean helps him, picking it up. They walk it over to my side, and Sam goes for the chain once they drop it. He lowers them, and I grit my teeth as the upstretched position I've been in for so long now slackens, before dropping completely.

I'm not prepared for it, the weight is too much as vertigo robs my balance. Dean catches me before I fall, and I slump into his body involuntarily, face mushing against his chest.

It's embarrassing, and I want to crawl into a hole and die, especially as he pushes me back up gently, warm hands gripping my biceps. A bloody, faced shaped imprint is left behind on his shirt.

A gentle push and down I go, sinking onto the lumpy mattress, a sigh leaving my lips despite my best efforts to keep it in.

He kneels before me, and Sam pulls out a first aid box from one of the few compartments that dot the concrete walls. He throws it to Dean, his own brows knitted tightly together before he takes a seat on the bed, too.

"Cas said he'd be back soon," the younger Winchester says as Dean opens the kit, his voice quiet, "I'm not sure of the uh, the way you heal, but every little helps right?"

I offer him a glance, but I'm too tired to really put any snark behind it. The bed just feels so wonderful, so utterly comfortable – I want to just lay down and rest for an eternity.

The side of my jaw stings suddenly and I hiss, pulling away. Dean looks a little mollified as I glare at him, and he pulls the cotton pad away, the smell of alcohol radiating from it.

"Ouch."

"Sorry, just thought we'd do what we could before Cas gets back."

Did he just apologise?

Are they actually being nice to me?

I mean, yes it's out of pity, but still. I don't trust them, and I can see the way he's watching me back in return, waiting for me to lash out. When I don't he moves back in slowly, dabbing at my face again.

The cotton pad is soaked through almost immediately and Dean grimaces, "It's a good thing we've got a tonne of these," he mutters, before getting to work again.

I let him dab away, face unmoving as he attempts to… to put my face back together. To mop up the blood. I eye the hand he's doing it with, watching it carefully. One false move and I'll break it.

A bold threat, considering my arms are currently resting loosely on my knees, feeling like dead weights. The golden cuffs are spattered with blood, the chains that loop through them rusty and heavy in comparison. I'm still shackled to the ceiling, and the chains are by no means loose. I'm just far too weak to attempt to move them just yet.

I'll take a small break, just this once.

Castiel doesn't take long, appearing moments later, his brow positively creased, his shoulders set and he crouches besides Dean.

"Evelyn, I apologise for my sister's behaviour. It wasn't my intention to allow her to hurt you," and with that he presses two fingers to my forehead. The move is similar to the time he forced me to sleep, and I flinch.

What I can only describe as diluted sunshine radiates from his fingers, soaking into my skin and encompassing everything fast, surrounding me with warmth. A moan leaves me lips, the stolen sun beams chasing away the pain, and when he pulls back a second later I sigh.

Strength returns rapidly, something I did not expect. And with the renewed vitality comes something much darker.

The curse yawns, stretches before bearing down hard, and an opportunity presents itself.

I look at Dean, vision going red without the blood this time. Rage swallows all higher thinking, a foreign rage that blisters through every cell.

I grab him by the throat with both hands, squeezing tightly.

Shouts pierce the hazy veil of bloodlust just barely, undiscernible as the blood rushes through my ears, pulses beneath my fingertips. And then I'm wrestled to the bed.

I don't fight back, but I can't look away from Dean as my shoulders are pinned. He stumbles back, hand on his throat.

The chains are yanked hard, and I can vaguely see Sam threading them through the loop of metal at the head of the bed, before pulling them taut. My arms go up, over my head until I'm stretched out on the bed, and I sigh as the familiar position reigns in my ability to move.

At least now I can lie down.

The trio step away from the bed, coming to form a formidable wall. Cas helps Dean up as he still massages his neck, a scowl marring his pretty features.

I cough, looking away, "Yeah, uh, sorry about that."

They look pissed.

"What the fuck, Eve?" Dean snarls.

I scowl. Their anger is a little misplaced all things considered, "Um, excuse me. What the fuck is my line I should think."

Dean's brows rise, "Not when you try to strangle me right after we heal you."

"A healing that – let's be honest – shouldn't have taken place in the first place, and was your – no was Castiel's fault."

Cas's brows pull together and I bite my tongue. Chastising Castiel is like kicking a puppy, even if he is my enemy.

"Hell, I can't even be mad though. At least I met a new friend today. And she actually had the balls to do something – to actually do what she came here to do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snaps, and I catch Sam's look of warning.

"It means that you guys won't even torture me for the shit that you want," I say, laughing, "You want information out of me so badly, but won't do anything to get it. What a couple of-"

"Enough," Castiel says, his deep voice echoing through the room with a weight that suggests he's using some of his angelic powers to exert control here.

Dean frowns, eyes flowing over my frame before landing on my face, "I know what you're doing," he says, and I smile despite myself, "And trust me, it ain't gonna happen again. Enjoy the isolation, sweetheart."

And with that they leave, shutting the door behind them. The light goes out and I almost follow it, exhaustion pulling at the reigns of my conscious mind. I breathe out slowly.

The aches from standing have disappeared, but I suspect that has more to do with the fact that Cas healed me more than anything else. Either way, as my mind circles the memories of my time in hell, my eyelids feel heavy.

Nothing stands out, her face doesn't come to mind. As far as I was concerned I was killing demons and demons only, and we won the miniature war relatively quickly considering the genocide that occurred.

I don't remember any heavenly beings, nothing of the sort. It was all pain and misery down there, cruelty and chaos, something I dealt out easily enough.

I killed so many, they all become nameless, faceless.

A sobering thought, one that helps welcome the nightmares, even as I fall into one of the deepest sleeps I think I'll ever have.

A sobering thought indeed.

* * *

Sam's the first one to talk once they enter the library, running a hand through his hair before turning on Dean and Cas, "So, what the hell was that all about?"

Castiel shrugs, looking away, "I… I didn't think that Annalise would do something like that. She was always so… mild, after her time away from Heaven."

Sam glances at Dean, a look that seems helpless, and Dean knows exactly why. Castiel came upstairs unaware of just how psychotic the bitch he had left downstairs would be – well, the second psychotic bitch that he'd left downstairs. After Sam stated that Castiel had brought a friend to help interrogate Evelyn, or at least give them some news on her he'd been thrilled, if a little cautious. It's not like they have the best track record when it comes to trusting angels.

But anything helps, right?

So when ten minutes flew by with Castiel by their side, and his angel friend decidedly absent, Dean's suspicious nature had him on edge.

It's just fortunate that he insisted on investigating the skanks whereabouts, and fortunate enough that Sam shares his suspicious nature.

They heard the tell-tale signs of flesh hitting flesh, of blood spilling onto the floor when they were outside of the door.

How someone can do so much damage in such a short amount of time he will never know – angels man, they fuck you up.

But the sight of Evelyn hanging by the bones of her wrists, blood covering pretty much the entirety of her body, it sent him into hunter mode. Protector mode. Which is all types of fucked up. Who protects their would be murderer?

The rational side of him points out that the angel wouldn't have been able to kill her anyway, and by doing this he is effectively getting himself onto Eve's good side, which may help their search in the long run.

"So what now? Did she even give us anything?" Dean says, and Castiel nods.

"She did inform me about something that may be of help to us, considering our lack of progress so far."

They move to the library table as one, taking their seats. A serious sense of déjà vu flutters through Dean as Cas leans forwards, hands interlocked on the table.

"Annalise has encountered Evelyn before, many years ago during one of the civil wars between the demons."

Dean frowns, "Wait, demons have civil wars?"

"Well it seems obvious, doesn't it?" Sam says, "They're known for stabbing each other in the back Dean, it's not a far stretch to believe that they would go to war with one another, either."

"Where were you during this civil war then?" Dean says, motioning to the angel.

"I was not part of the garrison that monitored that particular war, nor was I aware of it. Not all angels are privy to every bit of information in Heaven. Many factions are led by different leaders, managed by different areas. There are many secrets in Heaven."

"Oh, don't we know it," Dean grunts, "But that doesn't explain why the angels were involved in the first place? Weren't you guys busy playing harps and shit before it all went to hell up there?"

Castiel shrugs, "As far as I can tell it was merely to monitor the progression of the war, to ensure that it did not spill over into the living world.

"Annalise was not the leader of her faction, but she was the only one to have survive. Apparently Evelyn massacred the battalion after they attempted to…" he pauses, and the two brothers lean forwards.

"Come on Cas, don't leave us hanging."

Castiel nods, although he appears to be deep in thought, "They attempted to learn about her origins, much like we are. Their focus was on the method behind enslaving her, because Evelyn led the main charge against the enemy that eventually lost, completely turning the war around. She is believed to have been the main reason behind the other demons winning the war."

"We already know how to enslave her, the witches showed us that much. So none of that information is uh, is really…" Sam says, sighing. He runs a hand through his hair again, the agitation clear on his face.

But Castiel leans back, something akin to hope lighting up his features, drawing Dean's attention once again, "This is true, but their methodology behind acquiring the information is what we are interested in."

Sam snaps up, eyes meeting Dean's before they face the angel.

"They came across the same problem we have. Evelyn did not part with information, and she did not cooperate once they managed to capture her. And she was beginning to escape after a much shorter amount of time than her stay here. They became desperate and attempted to read her mind."

Dean rolls his eyes, throwing a hand up, "Hell, why didn't we think of that?"

"Because it's not possible, Dean. Evelyn's mind is heavily warded with magic that I have not come across before. It's practically immune to any outside influences, which the angels discovered. At least, that's what they originally assumed."

Sam sighs, "Can you um, hurry this along Cas? Get to the climax?"

Cas shoots the younger Winchester a glance of barely concealed annoyance before continuing, "They discovered loop holes, ways around the wards in her mind. Nothing perfect, but enough to glean just enough information, albeit very quickly. They were able to enter her memories through her dreams."

Sam nods, and Dean can see the cogs starting whir in his brothers brain, a habit he tends to adopt whenever his mind gets ahead of him, "Of course, so once they could do that they could find-"

Cas holds a hand up, effectively cutting him off, "This was not without severe consequences, Sam-"

"Of course it wasn't," Dean grumbles. It never is, is it? There's always some deadly catch.

"They still had to circumvent the many warding spells which took both time and effort, and energy that eventually drained them dry. When they finally gained entrance to her mind, after forcing her into a false sleep, they found the memory they wanted but they were too weak to maintain the connection. And then she woke up."

The silence says enough. Evelyn woke up, and she killed them all – all except Annalise.

Dean is the first to interrupt the silence, frowning down heavily at his hands, resting them on the mahogany table, "So you're telling me the angels managed to get what they wanted out of her – barely, that is – and then died anyway."

Castiel nods, "Annalise was the only survivor, and she only escaped because Eve was distracted."

"So if we try to do the same thing she'll probably kill us."

Castiel frowns, "It seems that that is what will most likely happen. As well as that, the squadron that infiltrated her mind had at least ten angels present. I am just one angel, and I cannot hope to perform the same actions as them. I'm not strong enough."

Fucking great. A tiny sliver of hope appears, and it's snatched away from them in a moment's notice. They finally have some way of getting what they want and just like that, the idea is destroyed. Dean's mood worsens the longer he thinks about it.

Sam sits up, drawing them out of their newly found slump, "Okay, but what if had outside help?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam glances at Cas before facing Dean, "Remember that case we worked with Bobby, with that kid Jeremy? The one who couldn't dream?"

Dean frowns. It's not like he keeps an itinerary of cases stowed away in his head for whenever Sam decides to spring a pop quiz on him, but after a few seconds the memory floats to the surface.

"Yeah, yeah – the one who used the dream root, kept Bobby in a coma. We had to go in and draw him out. Same kid used the stuff on me."

"Yeah, that one. Dream root allowed us into yours and Bobby's heads, and it knocked us out. So why don't we try it on Evelyn?"

Castiel opens his mouth, a frown already pulling at his lips before it snaps shut, and his brows rise, "That is not… a bad idea. I could use the dream root to gain access to her mind naturally, reserving my energy for bypassing the wards and navigating her memories."

Dean nods, but picks up on the emphasis of 'I' Castiel used, "We all go in, Cas steers through her brain, we follow and provide protection."

"Protection?" The angel says, shaking his head, "Why would I need protection? I am an angel, I can provide my own protection. And if all goes well, Evelyn will not be aware of my intrusion."

"Trust me, pal, you'll need us. Our last rendezvous through dreamville took a bad turn, fast. Plus, I was fully aware when it happened to me, and so was Bobby after we spoke to him. It's better if we come."

Cas thinks about this, but Dean's not going to take no for an answer, not when the one they're dealing with is Evelyn. Cas eventually nods, "Very well. I shall procure this 'dream root' and the ingredients."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean says, "Before we start getting all of this shit together, we haven't actually established how we're going to force Evelyn to go to sleep yet. She's not exactly going to take a nap because we ask her to."

Cas nods, "I will be able to put her to sleep. But the more important question is for how long? We know that she woke up fairly quickly last time, and that was with all of my energy focused on the one task, with the aid of the poisoned bullets."

Dean shrugs, "Then we shoot her in the head again. Problem solved."

"Well, not really," Sam supplies, shooting a glare at his brother, "That poison was hard to come by in the first place, and we only have… what? Two bullets left? Considering Dean got a little trigger happy back at the cabin."

"Hey, she was kicking our asses. My trigger happiness is the only reason we're sitting here today," when Sam shrugs, Dean continues, "Can't we just get her to drink the dream root too? That stuff knocks you out, and you're out for the count for a while. We force it down her throat, Cas also does some sleep mojo on her too for added protection, and then we take the dream root with her hair in it and join her in there."

"If she drinks the dream root she'll have some control over her dreams, maybe more so than us. Seems a bit risky."

"I may be able to suppress the full effects of the dream root," Castiel says, interrupting them, "It will require some effort, but not as much as if I were to force her to sleep through my own energy alone. It will require a lot of concentration to circumvent the warding spells as well as navigate her memories, whilst also maintaining her sleep, but I may be able to do it if the dream root will provide a foundation of sleep to work upon," Cas pauses, "Although we will have to take regular breaks so I can recuperate."

"Sounds good to me," Dean says, slapping his palms down onto his thighs, "Cas, you sort the dream root out, we'll keep an eye on Evelyn in the meantime, research the wards, yada yada yada, and wait till you get back."

Cas inclines his head before disappearing with a flutter of feathers.

This is good. The new found purpose has both the brothers on a high, even as they both move to get some food for the night – take out, because they deserve it after the night they've had – there's a calm that's settled over them.

There's no denying that this thing has been looming over their heads, particularly Dean's for a while now, and both have them have been constantly on edge, waiting for the moment Eve pounces.

So far she has shown restraint, but after the alleyway - after the stunt downstairs, and most importantly, after her admission of the loss of control – it's starting to genuinely worry Dean. He's been ignorant to the danger, still is if he's being honest, but now they have the upper hand and now they've got something up their sleeve.

He just hopes it doesn't cost them their lives like it did with the angels.

If it means losing Sam or Cas, then Dean will willingly throw himself at her mercy to ensure their survival. The moment this thing goes south he's calling it.

But hopefully it won't come to that. They have something now, they really do.


	16. Chapter 15: A Stroll Down Memory Lane

**Hi guys!**

 **Sorry for the wait, I didn't even realise how long had passed before I updated, but uni has been a little hectic the last two weeks so I've been a little busy.**

 **I just want to say a massive thank you for all of the reviews on the last chapter, they made my day and I read and appreciated every one! I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Just a word of warning, it includes a few things that may cause a few people to feel uncomfortable, so go into this chapter a little warily. I don't want to reveal too much, but a lot of abuse is mentioned from here on out, so I hope it doesn't affect any of you or cause any of you any issues.**

 **I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! :)**

* * *

 **15: A Stroll Down Memory Lane**

They enter the room like morticians, faces as grave as a tombstone as the younger guy toddles in after them, a tray of concoctions balancing in his hands. They avoid my curious gaze as they each pull in a chair, which is a strange occurrence in itself. Dean is usually the first to send a scathing glare my way, so his outright refusal to acknowledge me is concerning.

Kevin places the tray on the table, casting a quick, furtive glance my way. Brows pinched together, I search his eyes and he nods, shrugging before turning towards the three men.

"Can I go now?"

Dean waves Kevin away, eyes on the floor, a frown already marring his brow.

I try to peek at the various cups of liquid on the tray but I don't have much of a vantage point, what with being tied down to the bed and all. I arch up, neck aching but the chains snag on my wrists when I pull too far, so I slump back down onto the mattress with a sigh.

"What do you all want now?"

Sam looks up, hair swishing a little as Dean and Cas manoeuvre the chairs into better positions, which apparently means that they face me. They look a loft comfier than the bed I'm on, a little too comfy for a short visit.

I stare at the chairs when no one replies before eyeing the table, "We having a tea party?"

Sam picks up a glass of the weird mixture, but it's Dean who replies, "You could say that."

I frown. Okay.

What the hell is going on?

They're being strangely cryptic, not that they were ever forthcoming in the first place. Still, it's beginning to grate on my nerves. I'm not known for my everlasting patience, and they're really putting my ability to wait to the test.

"Here," Sam says quietly, passing the concoction to Dean.

If someone were to go outside, kneel besides the grimiest lake in the south side of America, and proceed to scoop up the murkiest, thickest liquid they could find that bordered the lake, then what's in the cup is what I would imagine they would gain from doing such a thing.

Dean takes it, grimacing a little as I imagine the scent reaches his nose before making his way over to me. The two faded layers in the cup slosh together, the beige liquid as unappealing close up as it is far away.

When he reaches my side I scoot away, as far as I can really go and when he starts to lean over me, the cup outstretched I raise a lip.

"Um, what are you doing?"

Dean raises a brow, stopping short, "Giving you a drink?"

I eye the cup, lips pressed together, "Uh, thanks but um, no thanks."

He frowns, face eclipsing the light that dangles above us, "It's just… it's just a tea. It promotes healing and shit."

"Yeah, no I'm still good, thanks anyway though. Feel free to have it yourself."

Dean glances over his shoulder, presumably to mutter something to the other two men in the room judging by the muted but hissed words that escape his mouth. When he faces me once more his lips are pursed, his brow furrowed.

"Okay, listen. You need to drink it, okay? It's to stop you from feeling the effects of a test we're uh, we're going to run later on in the bunker."

His voice lilts up at the end, the words elongating and I definitely do not believe him, not one bit.

"What test?"

"Just a test, nothing you have to worry about."

I stare him down, glancing at the 'tea' before meeting his eyes again, "You're a terrible liar."

"Just drink the fucking tea!"

"No! It looks like someone literally shit in a cup, then mixed it with water."

There's a snort behind him and Dean's eyes roll to the ceiling. A flicker of movement draws my attention to the right though, and I simultaneously shift to the left as Cas approaches, his face stoic. As my shoulder brushes Dean's thigh I pull back again, before sighing. I'm essentially caged in here.

"If you don't drink it voluntarily, we'll force it down your damn throat."

Castiel chooses that moment to sneak a hand under the back of my neck and I jerk away, only for his surprisingly cool hand to tighten, holding me fast. Dean grasps the underside of my jaw, caging me in with a firm grip as his jaw tightens.

Cas pulls my head back, the baby hairs yanking painfully and I grimace, glaring at him which he steadfastly ignores. Dean's fingers dig into my cheeks, and my teeth mash against them as I press my lips together, fighting his urging to open my mouth.

"Open wide," Dean says, voice mocking.

My nostrils flare involuntarily, and I pull away despite the hold Cas has on my head. When he tips my head up there's no fighting it, his strength is undeniable. He may as well be made of concrete.

Dean sighs when I still refuse to open my mouth, resting a knee on the bed, "Cas, grab her nose or something."

I shake my head at the angel, "Don't do it," I hiss, slamming my lips closed when Dean jerks forwards, cup shying an inch away from my mouth.

Close but no cigar, and he exhales sharply.

Cas obviously ignores me, nodding at Dean before his free hand squeezes my nose shut. I manage to sneak a deep breath in before-hand, but I nearly spit the air out when Dean moves and straddles me, knees coming to rest on either side of my ribs. He leans forwards, almost completely blocking the light as his weight settles on my upper torso. If I thought I was caged in before, it has nothing on what he's doing now.

I buck, I try to throw him off but it doesn't really work considering I'm tied down and a goddamn angel is holding me in place, plus Dean is kind of heavy, believe it or not.

His hand goes back to my throat and he tips my head up further, the lack of air beginning to burn in my lungs as he compresses my chest.

As soon as he leans up though, as soon as that pressure lessens on my ribs I see an opportunity, and I'll be damned if I don't take it. Heaving myself up using muscles that haven't been utilised in weeks, I wrap my legs around the front of Dean's neck, ankles locking and knees digging into his back.

His eyes widen and they flash towards Cas, "Uh," he manages to grunt out, but I'm already pulling down with all of my strength, gritting my teeth. The beauty of this position is that I have all of the leverage once he's a certain ways down and as his back arches, the strength leaves him abruptly and he collapses onto his back, knees still bent by my sides. He goes without much of a fight or a choice, and Cas barely manages to capture the glass of… sick or whatever it is before Dean drops it.

I tighten my legs around him, his trim waist digging into my thighs as his hands shoot up, grasping my ankles.

"Sam! A little help?" He wheezes, voice unnaturally high and I snort, tightening my muscles, tightening the grip around his neck. He's strong, I'll give him that and he fights the hold, but I have the advantage.

He wrestles with me and Cas wavers, eyes flickering between myself and Dean. I raise a brow, waiting for him to make a move but it's Sam that ruins the fun. He lunges forwards, hands wrapping around my ankles.

A laugh escapes my lips despite my best efforts to keep it in, and Sam breaks my hold a second later. Dean inhales hard, rolling off of me. If I wasn't trying to contain my laughter I would have given him a kick up the arse for effect. It serves him right.

"Eve," Sam says, breathing out hard, "Just take the drink. Honestly, it's nothing malicious. See, we're even going to take it," he grabs the cup out of Cas's hand before taking a healthy sip, and I frown as Castiel settles down by my side again.

Sam grimaces, and I wait for the giant of a man to drop dead on the floor, or to at least spontaneously combust. When all he does is wrinkle his nose I pause.

If he's drinking it, it's definitely not poisoned, obviously. And if he's drinking it, whatever they've got up their sleeves can't be too bad.

Still, the deal breaker here is that it still looks awful, and from Sam's expression it obviously tastes just as awful as it looks.

"We wouldn't ask you to drink it if we didn't think it was absolutely necessary," he continues, and Castiel leans back, nodding.

I pause. I could work this to my advantage, "So what do I get if I drink it, huh? What's my uh, my reward? My incentive?"

"Erm," Dean says, coming to Sam's side, "We don't kill you."

The effect of his words are lost when he rubs his neck.

"Not good enough," I reply, looking away.

"Of course it isn't," I hear him mutter, and a second later he curses, "Okay, you drink it and we'll… loosen the chains a little - we'll let you sit up."

Oh hell yeah.

That has my attention. The chains are a real thorn in my side at the moment, and to gain the ability to move freely once again – well, move a little more than what I can now – is too good to pass up on.

I'd probably sell my first born for it at the moment.

"Deal," I say, and Cas snakes his hand back under my head. He takes the cup from Sam, his eyes tightening a little as some kind of interaction occurs between them. But I don't care what they're silently talking about, because I'm mentally preparing myself for consuming this awful looking beverage.

Think of the freedom.

Think of the ability to sit up.

Happy thoughts.

As he pushes my neck up I don't fight it this time, and I open my mouth without prompting before squeezing my eyes shut. The cup presses to my lips, and as soon as the lukewarm liquid hits my tongue I have to fight the urge to spit it all out. It's awful, truly awful and I down it with a grimace. The aftertaste is just as bitter, if not worse, but I'm quite proud of the fact that I don't immediately throw it up.

"God," I say, mouth twisting, "That's awful."

The guys move away then, something spurring them into action and I hiss as Cas pulls his hand out. He's a little rougher than necessary.

"Okay, ouch. Easy there, Wings. Hair pulling is not on the menu."

"My apologies," the angel replies, and I open my mouth to give some rebuttal.

But the words don't come. No. Because talking becomes a lot harder all of a sudden, and the weight of my tongue increases tenfold. The noise that comes out of my mouth resembles gibberish, and I blink, eyes heavy.

Heavier than what they should be.

"What… What is-" I lick my lips and they tingle in response. Limbs tingle too, refusing to respond and I groan, "What was in that…" But I'm not around to hear the answer, because the lights go out and with one hopefully scornful look, I pass out, head swimming.

* * *

 _Dean_

As soon as she's out Dean scrambles forwards, barely catching his brother as Sam begins to tip sideways. He rights him before lowering him into one of the chairs, scowling. Sam goes without a fight, body already going limp.

"Guys, can we hurry. I'm about to pass out here," Sam groans, head in his hands and Castiel joins them quickly, taking a seat himself.

"Why did you even drink it?" Dean snaps, handing out the glasses of dream root before taking a seat himself. Cas hands them a strand of Eve's hair in return, and Dean grimaces as he drops it in, stomach rolling a little.

There's just something about consuming someone else's hair that just… it just doesn't sit right with him.

"Well, whatever you were trying to do wasn't working," Sam slurs, rolling his eyes, "So I took the initiative. I helped, and it worked, right?"

"Whatever," Dean mutters, giving the drink a small shake – gotta make sure that hair has fully integrated with the contents of the cup after all – "Drink up, fellas," and with that he downs the dream root in one, face pinched the entire time.

"God," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I forgot just how bad that stuff tastes."

There's no reply from Sam, and a glance in his direction reveals why. His brother is dead to the world, head slumped forwards resting loosely on his chest, his hair shielding the majority of his face. Dean's own body begins to tingle, limbs losing functionality fast.

Cas nods his way before settling deeper into the chair, "I will guide you both once we are inside of Eve's head."

Dean nods, opening his mouth to say something. Sounds come out, at least he thinks they do, although he's slurring and the words come out weirdly. It's a losing battle in the end, and Dean drops off a second later, head falling back.

The transition from reality to dream is not something that Dean will ever get used to. It's jarring, in the softest send of the word. Subtle enough to have you questioning whether or not anything has actually changed in the first place, or if you're imagining things.

But as the grey skies begin to solidify above him and the fresh scent of autumn begins to infiltrate his nose, it's very apparent that they're not in the bunker anymore, nor are they in America.

Nope. This is some old time, countryside, Yorkshire pudding type of shit. They're in England, alright, and the lack of electricity and the abundance of slightly medieval clothing confirms that they're not in Kansas Toto, not anymore.

Dean glances at Cas as the angel appears out of nowhere, stepping forwards with a squinted glare. He scans the distance, and Dean follows his gaze. People pass them without acknowledging them, dressed in the plainest clothing a person can imagine. It's all beige and white here, with barely any colour.

There's not a lot of people though, and the small village they're in explains why. Few buildings surround them, the area that they're in resembles a market place more than anything else, with a few people advertising fresh produce and equally boring clothes. It explains why they don't see many people, and it also explains why not many roads lead out of the place. The fields that surround the small village are barely interrupted by marked paths, and Dean can't see much in the distance.

"Where are we?" Sam says, coming up from behind Dean. He narrowly avoids one particular woman who seems on the warpath, muttering obscenities under her breath. Dean dodges her skirts, glaring at the back of her head as she disappears.

"I believe that we are somewhere in England, although I can't pinpoint where exactly. It seems that I cannot fully integrate my ability to see into the past with the memory, although I know that it is the early 1700's," Cas supplies, eyes following a small group of people as they carry baskets of food across the flattened area. They almost pass through them, and judging by their vacant expressions it's obvious that they can't see the trio.

"Cool," Sam says, and Dean detects a note of awe in his brother's voice.

"Nerd," Dean replies, ignoring the scowl thrown his way, "So why did you bring us here, Cas? Anything important?

Cas raises as brow and starts walking, and Sam and Dean scramble to follow, "I did not choose this particular memory for any other reason beyond the fact that it is one of Eve's earliest memories, and it seems to be significant to her."

"So… you've chosen at random then?"

"No," Cas says, eyes narrowing at Dean before he continues, "Like I said, this memory weighs heavily on Evelyn's mind, enough so to have developed a strong neuronal connection within her brain. Memories are not images or videos that I can simply select from at will, but rather they are connections within the brain that are both weak and strong. The stronger the memory, the larger presence it has within the head, and the stronger synaptic-"

Dean holds up a hand, "Save us the biology lesson, Cas. Explain it like we're five."

Sam raises a brow but doesn't comment, and Cas sighs, "This memory is very strong, and it has a strong emotional response whenever it is replayed. I assume that this means it is important."

"Okay," Dean nods, eyeing the rolling hills, "I get that, I do. But why go for the strong ones? Why not just… zero in on the relevant ones? The ones that matter to our uh, cause."

"Locating relevant memories is practically impossible, Dean," Cas says, his brows pulling together as if he's pained, "Memories are not obvious things as it is, they are complex. This is my attempt at filtering through them to eventually find the _relevant_ ones. The wards are not helping, either. They're preventing me from simply identifying the memory and analysing it for relevance immediately, making them almost impossible to decipher. The loop hole here is that we can experience the memories with Eve, and eventually find out if they hold anything of import."

Dean glances at his brother, finding the same slightly horrified expression his face. So, this is not going to be an in and out job, then.

Great.

Dean goes to reply, but Cas's head turns abruptly and the angel follows something without warning. Dean frowns, moving to keep up with the angel and he follows his gaze, eyes landing on the back of a young girl moving through the thinning crowd.

He narrowly avoids the string of people who seem to part like the red sea without warning, "Who's that?"

The girl is young, seriously young. Dressed in dark brown trousers that have seen better days and a white cotton top, she can't be older than ten, eleven max.

She approaches one particular cabin off to the side of the market and the trio jog to keep up, watching her progression. She ascends the few steps leading up to the battered front door, coming to a stop abruptly, her back ramrod straight.

Eyes narrowed, Dean takes her in as they move to the side of the cabin, following Cas's lead. Her dark hair is curled up into a loose bun at the back of her head, and she waits with her hands by her sides for a few seconds, little fingers rubbing together.

She looks tense, and he wonders why.

Cas picks his way through the tall plants bordering the side of the tiny porch of the cabin, and Dean follows his lead, Sam close behind them.

His mouth falls open when he comes to a stop though, as soon as his eyes land on the side of the girls face. The profile shot of her sends his brain reeling, and his jaw unhinges involuntarily, eyes scanning her face.

"Evelyn," Cas whispers, confirming Dean's assessment.

Evelyn indeed, except younger.

Sam moves to their position, mirroring Dean's expression the moment he spots her.

She looks smaller, a hell of a lot smaller, so much so that she looks almost… innocent. Which just doesn't fit with the description of Eve he has in his head.

The same straight nose, small and delicate, the same dark brows and fiercely blue eyes. It's her alright, the only difference is that she's a lot paler now, but the grey skies are probably the reason behind that.

She's breathing a little harshly as she waits, eyes scanning the door before she takes a single, deep breath and knocks. She steps back instantly, eyes flying across the wooden structure.

The door opens an instant later, and the malevolence that pours out of the cabin has Dean's hairs standing on end. His hand goes to his knife automatically, the weapon tucked safely at his side. He relaxes a little when he feels the hilt of it, brows rising.

Only dark magic can evoke that kind of dread within a person, that or pure evil.

A men steps into view, leaning against the doorway. His eyes are glazed as they glare down at Eve, and he looks ill – no, he looks drunk. Really drunk, swaying despite the support of the door.

"What?" he slurs, red eyes narrowing.

Evelyn doesn't hesitate as she replies, "She wants you to go over there, now. And she wants all of your pain relief. She wants everything."

Her voice, it's so light – so fucking young, with only the slightest hint of the roughness it has now.

God, it's freaking Dean out. He's going to have to sit down when this is all done.

"Well, tell the bitch that I'll get to her when I get to her. Now fuck off," he grunts, before moving back.

Evelyn frowns, and shoves her foot into the door just before it closes. There's a heavy pause, a second of time that has them leaning forwards, has Evelyn leaning back. And then the door swings back open, only this time he follows it.

A meaty hand shoots out and harsh, reddened fingers grasp Evelyn by the face, hauling her forwards. She goes without much of a fight, not that she can fight the dickhead, her eyes wide and a small yelp escaping her lips.

"Listen here, girl. Tell her she can wait just like everybody else."

Eve doesn't struggle, in fact, she doesn't even attempt to get him to let go. Despite the shaking in her hands that's evident even from Dean's position she continues, "She's about to give birth, she needs you… she needs all of the – the medicine now."

There's a hint of desperation in her voice, and the sound leaves Dean thoroughly confused. She's never used that tone of voice before.

Nothing about this encounter resembles the monster they currently have chained down to a bed in their dungeon.

In fact, he'd even say that the girl before them is 100% human. The age old instinct within him wants him to step forwards and stop this, to shove the guy back before he can hurt her. Sam steps forwards too, especially as the guy's fingers tighten, yanking Eve up further.

Cas stops them both with a single glare, shaking his head, "You won't be able to stop this. It's a memory, and any interference will only serve to hamper our efforts in the long run."

"If you don't come," Eve manages to spit out, her voice wobbling as it draws their attention once again, "If you don't – she'll make you pay… you know that."

The guy wavers, and after a few tense seconds - the silence only interrupted by Eve's increasingly ragged breathing and the occasional flow of conversation from wilfully ignorant passers-by - he lets her go with a shove.

She stumbles back, fumbling down the stairs. She barely manages to stop herself from landing flat on her back, twisting at the last second.

"Tell her I'll be over shortly," the guy grunts, and promptly slams his door shut.

Eve stands straighter and Dean moves out of the shadows, closer to her as she brushes down her clothes. She glares at the now closed door, and Dean's seen that look on her face a few times before – hell, usually he's the one to cause it, him or Sam that is.

He's not surprised when she spits at the cabin before turning on her heel, stalking back down the wide set path. They scramble to follow, and again they dodge the few people that push past them, although the wide berth given to Eve means that they don't really have to try. It's like she has the goddamn plague or something.

The people see her walking their way their eyes go wide, almost comically so before they pull a 180, avoiding the little girl at all costs. Eve barely notices, her eyes are focused solely on the ground as she picks up her pace. She can walk fast for someone so small, and judging by her aggravated posture, she's pissed off.

A few girls congregate outside of one small house, a school or something by the looks of it, and they're all dressed in long, beige skirts and bonnet hats – at least, he thinks that's what they're called. Dean's not exactly a fashion connoisseur of 18th century Britain, now.

They look older than Eve, and they huddle together as soon as she passes by, giggling loudly before muttering under their breaths. When Eve looks up, essentially catching their stares they snort, sending her scathing glares before moving away.

Eve scowls at them, Dean can see the way her brows furrow even from here, but she otherwise carries on, her walk quickening. Dean almost flips the girls off himself, because if there's one thing in this world that he can't stand, it's bullies.

Sam notices too, and he nudges Dean's arm.

"What?"

"Weird right?" Sam says, motioning to the cabin and then the girls.

"Yeah, a little."

Cas doesn't comment, even as they veer off of the path into a much narrower one, and as they progress the amount of houses lessen, dropping off like flies. The shops disappear too, almost non-existent now as the foliage increases.

Even the wildlife is quiet round here, although he takes it all in with a pinch of salt. Not all memories will be completely factual, after all – they won't all be solid re-enactments of the past, right? Like, if someone were to traipse through Dean's head, he's sure as hell that they wouldn't find any birds singing, either.

Still, the deeper they go the creepier it becomes, and Dean eyes the thickening tree line, ready for anything.

It's not long before they reach their apparent destination, a small house that sits at the end of the path, alone and forgotten. For some reason it feels out of place against the backdrop of trees, like it's imposing.

Like the drunks house, this one has a set of steps leading to the front door, dipped in the centre from years of use and down the side Dean can see another set of stairs leading down, presumably into some kind of basement.

It's giving him bad vibes, and Sam mirrors his suspicious expression when he glances back at his brother. Yeah, this house is rocking some creepy ass shit or aura or whatever.

Eve slows to a stop at the bottom of the steps, eyeing them and Dean frowns, coming to her side. After a deep breath she goes up them, one step at a time, her movements slow and jerky. She hesitates at the front door, and Dean waits by her side, glancing down.

What he sees tightens his gut, because whatever is beyond that door must be something back.

Fear, plain and simple. It's written all over her face. She looks fucking terrified, her face pale in the grey light, shadows highlighting the increasingly apparent dark circles beneath her eyes.

Since when did kids have circles of exhaustion under their eyes? Dean's no stranger to it himself, hell, he grew up on barely any sleep. But he's a hunter, so is Sam. Eve isn't.

And when did kids sport red marks on pretty much all of the exposed areas of their body? Red marks that look suspiciously like fingerprints, some already turning into bruises.

Eve's breathing is deceptively steady, hitching as she inhales a little. Cas watches her too, and Dean wonders what the hell is going through the angels mind, and if it's anything like what's going through his. Cas's brows are pulled tightly together, and when he looks up at Dean they share a similar look of understanding, of ill ease.

Dean focuses on the door, searching for anything that could be causing her hesitation. There's a few gouges, probably animals scratching at it, one or two dents.

Cas reaches over Eve, grasping both Sam and Dean's arm and a second later they're in the house. It's dark, save for a few candles and the barely discernible light streaming through the few windows.

The door opens and Eve pale frame appears, and she blinks as she slowly enters the room.

The house is deceptively larger on the inside, betraying its exterior. Plants and herbs line every available shelf and surface, books thrown haphazardly about, laid open and ripped in certain places. They all look to be satanic or demonic, with inscriptions that Dean vaguely recognises.

Whenever he focuses on the books for too long they blur, his eyes burning.

Cas frowns, "Wards," he grumbles.

Corridors lead off into God knows where, and a staircase leads down into darkness.

This place has jumped out of every stereotypical horror movie Dean can think of.

Eve shuts the door, and as soon as she does a figure they didn't notice before appears from behind it, emerging from the shadows.

A woman, familiar yet not. Her blonde hair is dishevelled, and she's sweating heavily, face pale. There's something about her that has Dean stepping back a little, frowning. He doesn't know, maybe it's the cruel way her mouth is turned down, or the pure hatred hidden within the depths of her blue eyes.

She looks like Eve a little, although obviously older. And very obviously pregnant.

"Where is she?"

God, her voice is like a verbal slap, all bark and bite and Eve flinches.

"Why isn't he with you?"

Eve looks up at the woman, breathing in shakily, "He said he would come soon-"

The slap is blindingly fast, a move that a pregnant woman shouldn't really be pulling. All three of them jump, flinching hard, but not as hard as Eve as she stumbles to the floor, one hand clutching her abused cheek.

"I didn't ask you to get him to come 'soon', I said to go and get him now. This baby," she wheezes for effect, "This baby is coming now, and I need someone here-"

"Where's Uncle Algernon?" Eve murmurs, coming to a stand. Her bottom lip wobbles a little, and her eyes are beginning to tear. She sounds like every kid that's trying to avoid punishment, except instead of a few harsh words, it looks like she may actually be punished severely.

The three men glance at one another, shifting uneasily.

Dean didn't even think Eve was capable of producing tears, never mind actually crying.

"He's out."

Eve rubs the back of her hand across her eyes, "Can't he help?"

The blond woman scowls, her hand twitching again, "Not when he's out – Dear lord, do you not listen to me?"

Eve looks away, down, "Of course I listen, mother."

Mother?

Dean's brows rise, "What the hell?"

"What kind of mom slaps her kid?" Sam says, disgust apparent in his voice.

"Then why do you _insist_ upon making me repeat myself?" her mother hisses, before hunching over, "God, this child is coming. Did you at least get the herbs?"

Eve swallows, cheek already turning red before she shakes her head.

The woman groans, leaning down, "You… You'll pay for this later." Another contraction interrupts her next words and she groans. Dean's a little thankful for it.

It's not an enjoyable experience watching someone verbally and physically abuse their kid.

Eve doesn't move to help her mother though, no, instead she stares the woman down, mirroring the hatred in the woman's eyes from earlier. Except her hatred is hidden behind a veil of fear.

The door opens then, interrupting the silence and the woman straightens, her features tight as she does, breathing hard as the newcomer is revealed in the light.

"Algernon," the woman sighs, and Eve steps back a little, "Tell me that you have some form of pain relief with you there?"

The man nods, raising the basket of herbs for them to inspect. His face is gruff as he steps forwards, and he looks vaguely familiar for some reason, with a strong brow and deep set eyes, but Dean can't place him, can't focus on the bead of recognition. It's like meeting someone out of a dream you had years ago.

"Where is the drunk?"

"Evelyn failed to bring him," the woman hisses, before breathing in deeply.

Eve swallows again, hands opening and closing as she focuses solely on her boots, shifting from foot to foot. She doesn't seem surprised when the brute of a man grasps her by the collar and hauls her up, dragging her to the wall before slamming her against her.

Breath explodes out of her tiny frame, and Sam moves forwards once again, stopped only Dean's arm going across his middle. His brother looks like he wants to fight it, but the pained acceptance in Dean's gaze stops him.

It's a memory.

There's nothing they can do.

How a man that big can comfortably slam a little girl into a wall Dean will never know, but Algernon does it, he shoves her into the wall again, so hard that the jars of plants and other weird objects rattle.

"Why didn't you bring the doctor, Evelyn?" the dude snarls, leaning close, centimetres from her face, "Your mother asked you to do _one_ thing!" Slam, "How do you expect-"

"Algernon, leave her be," the woman gasps, "I need you now, deal with her later."

His nostrils flare as he glares over his shoulder, but seeing the pain in the mother's expression he drops Eve. She falls with a cry, legs collapsing as she slumps to the ground, hand clutching the front of her now rumpled shirt. She looks up at Algernon, breathing hard as he towers over her, her cheeks wet.

When Algernon moves away Dean walks over to her, ignoring Cas's call. He swallows, uncomfortable as he crouches down beside her. Every part of him wants to offer her some comfort, despite the fact that in three hundred years this little girl is going to try and kill him.

But he can't offer her any comfort, because she can't see him anyway. And she's destined to kill him. He pulls back the hand he didn't know he extended, standing.

When he returns to Cas's side he finally notices the sheen of sweat on the angel's forehead. Cas shifts from foot to foot, looking like he may be on the verge of collapse. When he acknowledges Dean's questioning gaze he waves the concern away.

"I am fine," he says, although he's breathing a little hard.

They don't have long left by the looks of it.

Algernon and the mother head down one of the many corridors, disappearing from sight. He's glad to see the backs of their heads.

They get to work immediately, moving to separate corners of the room before searching through the plants and the herbs, scanning the books but every label is complete gibberish. It's like trying to read another language.

Throughout their search Eve remains on the floor, breathing a little too heavily for it to be considered normal. She's not far from their minds as they search the room, especially when Dean hears the tell-tale signs of a sniffle.

He pauses, but his scrutiny is interrupted by the sounds of agony coming down the corridor.

"Okay, so either she's giving birth or someone's killing her right now," Dean mutters, coming to Cas's side.

Cas nods, swallowing, "Have any of you found anything?"

Sam puts down a book, shaking his head, "Nope, I can't make sense of any of this. You?"

Cas also shakes his head, glancing towards Eve, "No. And I'm afraid that our time is up. The longer we stay here, the harder it is to combat the wards. I believe the dream root is also beginning to ware off."

The two brother's nod, they're not going to argue. Eve remains against the wall as they meet Cas in the centre of the room, and when the angel places a hand on their respective shoulders Dean takes one last look at the younger version of the woman sent to kill him.

She's still sitting there, cross legged on the floor, staring down at her pale hands.

The vision melts away, and as darkness consumes his sight Dean wakes with a start, jerking out of his seat. He barely catches himself before he falls to the floor, rubbing a hand down his face as the dream root still pulls at his eyes.

God, waking up isn't exactly easy either.

Sam's a lot more graceful when he decides to grace them with his consciousness, blinking slowly as he leans forwards, groaning. Dean sways a little, head pounding.

Cas doesn't look so good when Dean acknowledges the angel, finding him slumped in his chair. He begins to slide out of it and Dean rushes forwards, grunting when Cas's weight settles in his arms. He shoves him up, back into the chair despite the whining of his own muscles, protesting the movement.

The dream root did a number on his system, and apparently it's messed with Cas too. Either that or the wards have screwed with them, and a trail of blood slides down Cas's nose as if to punctuate the assessment.

When the angel opens his eyes they're red, bloodshot.

"Cas," Dean says, "You good?"

Cas blinks, and Dean takes a step back as the angel rubs a hand down his face, looking down at the blood that comes away with it, "Yes, I'm… I'm okay. Just very tired."

"You're bleeding man," Sam says, resting his arms on his knees.

Cas wipes a hand beneath his nose again, raising a dark brow. He doesn't seem too worried about the development though, "I expected just as much. The wards were… they were strong. Very strong. I will need time to recover."

Dean rubs a hand across the back of his neck, "How long we talking here?"

Castiel pauses, eyes flickering between the two brothers.

Before he can reply Dean continues, "I mean, when are we next taking a stroll down memory lane?" His eyes fall on Eve then. She's still fast asleep, chest rising slowly every so often. In her sleep she doesn't look nearly as angry, in fact, she kind of looks like the kid she used to be.

Which is all types of wrong.

Even now, Dean's insides churn as he pictures the smaller version of her being slammed against a wall, of her being slapped across the face. He knows Sam feels the same way.

And they shouldn't allow it to affect them, because despite what may have occurred when Eve was younger, they need to separate that from who she is now.

Past experiences do not define who you are, and they definitely do not excuse you from the things that you choose to do afterwards. And Eve has killed, Eve has slaughtered people right before their very eyes. And Dean bets his life that she's killed innocents before, because he's seen the guilty look hidden within her eyes. The look that he had when he first crawled his way out of hell.

It's a feeling that no one can escape, a feeling that haunts a person, even years down the line. And she has the look. So he knows she's done some shit in her time on this earth, and because of that he shuts the image of the small girl out of his head.

"'Cos let's be honest, that memory gave us jack shit," Dean continues, "Besides letting us know that her family beat the shit out of her."

At the mention of this they all cringe, including Cas, "Yes, it appears that she has had a… a troubled past. Which will make things more difficult, as the memories… they are likely to be instances of pain more than anything else."

Great, so they're going to have to experience the highlight reel of childhood abuse before they find anything useful.

Dean doesn't mean to sound so callous about it, but God, it was hard watching that.

"I should be recovered by tomorrow, so we can begin again then."

Dean nods, helping Cas up. They pack up their things quickly, because Eve begins to fidget as the minutes tick on, and Dean definitely does not want to be here when she wakes up. Still, when he goes to turn the light off he pauses, staring back at her restless frame.

A quick shake of the head brings him back to the present, and he switches the light off, closing the door behind him.

He will not soften.

* * *

 _Eve_

I take a deep breath, the door a formidable structure that seems to just ooze evil out of its very pores. It's a door that I desperately do not want to approach, but the thought of going back home empty handed spurs me on, forces me to put one leg in front of the other until I've reached the top step.

Even then, it's hard to motivate myself to do anything else, and as the seconds tick on, it takes a little more effort to raise a hand and knock, and when I do the urge to run and hide almost has me turning on the spot. But I stay rooted in place, fear of explaining that I've failed her once again making me do so.

To go home without him is scarier than facing him, and my heart races.

That door opens, a yawning cavern that opens far too slowly.

The evil pours out in a wave of noxious gas, alcohol and God knows what else sparking a new sense of dread, and it burns my eyes.

And then he walks out.

I wake up, sweating and breathing way too hard. The darkness that greets my eyes doesn't help chase away the nightmare, it facilitates it. I blink, and for a second I swear that I'm blind. But after a while my eyes adjust to the darkness.

It's just the dungeon. I'm not there.

I'm here.

God, it's been a long fucking time since that particular memory crawled out of the gutter. The doctor hasn't paid me a visit in years, and trust it to be the time that he landed me in deep shit with her. Why is he suddenly showing up in my dreams?

Talk about being haunted beyond the grave.

The memory rapidly recedes the longer I'm awake, and within a few minutes I can barely remember it, I forget half of it almost immediately. I'm thankful, because the panic recedes too, like a tide being pulled back out to sea.

What the hell?

It must've been that damn drink they gave me. I knew I shouldn't have drank it, it's cursed or something. I should've told them to fuck off.

Speaking of them, where are they? Where's the trio of misfits?

They were all here a moment ago. Before I fell asleep.

I don't even feel rested, so I can't have been sleeping for that long.

I lean up, chains dragging me back down and I bite my tongue.

So they left without even holding up their side of the bargain?

More fool me.

Well, they can forget it if they think I'm drinking that poison again. It clearly has a side of effect of nightmares and horror, and I will not willingly put myself into a position where I have to face the memories of them all again. It's not worth the freedom.

The next time they come down here I'm going to give them a piece of my mind.

Right after I demand they loosen the chains. I did what they asked.

So I stew, glaring at the door, too afraid to go back to sleep.

I hate them, I honestly hate them all.


	17. Chapter 16: Long Way Down

**Hey everyone!**

 **Just want to say - thank you for those still reading this! I hope you like reading it as much as I like writing it, and thank you for the reviews.**

 **Sorry for the delay, I just didn't know how to write this chapter for a while, because there's certain things I want to convey but getting it out of my head and onto the page is difficult sometimes.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, and once again a little warning - this warning applies for the next few chapters too - there's a lot of things that some may find uncomfortable. If you've read the last chapter you'll know what I mean, so I hope it doesn't cause anyone any issues.**

 **Once again, hope you like it! Got a bit carried away so it's a long one! Let me know if you hate/love/feel-neutral about it! :)**

* * *

 **16: Long Way Down**

To say that I've been in a foul mood since the drinking situation is an understatement. I could kill a man with the looks I'm throwing out, staring into the darkness as my anger rises, a tidal wave of emotion that builds, never cresting.

With each passing hour it worsens, souring immensely so. Each breath seems to hitch, catching in my throat as I process the fact that I'm still shackled to the bed, still held down as tightly as before.

When the door finally opens a few hours later I yank on the chains, growling low in my throat, the sound escaping before I can stop it.

Sam's face is abruptly illuminated by the light as he flicks it on. He stands there, quiet and calm. Always quiet, Sam. Always watchful.

His calculating stare only serves to heighten my irritation, and the chains rattle as I lean forwards, "Nice to see you again, Sam," I spit, "Come to actually hold your end of the bargain up or?"

His brows rise, hands going to the pockets stitched into his jeans, "What?"

"The chains," I snap, although my voice is low, "You said you would loosen them if I drank the shit mix you threw my way."

Those calm eyes widen a little, "Oh – oh, yeah, yeah. Of course. Sorry."

His tall frame moves fairly quickly then, an urgency behind the movement that I believe is fuelled by guilt more than anything else. I can't quite see what it is that he's doing as moves behind me, catching only the odd elbow and hearing the odd grunt as he works, but the chains slacken a moment later.

I sit up immediately, spine clicking audibly as bones move and settle back into place, feeling older than what they are. The pressure on my muscles is unfamiliar yet familiar all at once, a strangely satisfying feeling as I settle into the new position, crossing my legs.

This was almost worth the nightmares – almost.

Footsteps sound behind me, moving around the room and I look up through my hair as Sam works his way back to the door, hand resting on the jam of it.

Now that I'm upright the aches begin to appear, aches that I wasn't aware of before, probably due to weeks of misuse or abuse. I'm surprised I haven't developed bed sores yet.

The chains are still a heavy and permanent weight on my wrists, loathed to be forgotten. It's the first time I've been able to truly see them though, so I trace the gold metal with a thumb, lightly pressing over the runes and wards that decorate them. They look ancient, unfamiliar. A time long forgotten, a time that did not exist in writing. A shock passes through my thumb, a warning shot, a tingle that can only mean one thing.

Don't touch.

I've seen many types of runes and wards in my time; hell, half of them are carved into my bones, half of them warp my soul. But these ones… I bet that she would love to get her hands on these bad boys. She'd have a field day, before immediately abusing the power they invoke.

Thinking of her only serves to deepen the aggravation swimming through my body, so I wrench my thought away with a sharp look in Sam's direction, finding him studying me.

The brothers, or more specifically the agenda they're currently pushing should be worrying. It should be a cause for concern, because clearly there's something on their minds, and I'm not stupid enough to think that the drink was anything but a ploy to further their cause, despite their insistence that it was for a test they were running in the bunker. I'm fully aware of the fact that this is not the case, mostly due to Dean's terrible attempt at a lie.

But they offered a little freedom, and I take what I can get. Call me apathetic, but the drink could cause the apocalypse and I still wouldn't really give a shit.

I stopped giving a shit a long time ago – mostly I just argue out of necessity, out of boredom now, unless the fight concerns the curse.

Sam coughs and I blink, focusing on him. He looks uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another as he regards me carefully, mouth pinched.

"What?" I finally say, bored with the silence, bored with his presence.

He frowns a little, folding his arms across his chest, "What do you mean, what?"

I eye the door, "Well, are you done? Did you need something?"

"Someone's in a good mood," he mutters, but approaching footsteps interrupt my retort.

The insult dies on my tongue as the other two enter the room, and low and behold, a tray of that horrible liquid rests in Dean's hands.

"What, no Kevin?" I say, which earns a sardonic glare from the elder Winchester. I scoff.

His bad mood mirrors my own, so that's going to work well for whatever interaction they have planned for today.

"I'm not drinking that again, if that's what you think is going to happen."

He raises a brow, glancing down at the drink before facing me again, "And why not? It didn't kill you before, did it?"

I shrug, "No, but that's not the point. I don't want to drink it. So I ain't drinking it."

A beat of silence passes, a moment of indecision as they digest my words, weighing their options. I merely study my nails.

"We don't have time for this," Dean says finally, pinching the bridge of his nose, "What if we offer you something new like last time?"

"Like what?"

He pauses, eyeing the bed I'm on, "We'll get you a new pillow."

"Pass," I say, rolling my eyes.

"We'll-"

I interrupt him before he continues, eyes level on him. His shoulders are tense, his body an immovable line that betrays his irritation, betrays his eagerness. He's the quiet of a storm in the distance, waiting for the opportunity to roll in and take what he wants. And I'm not giving him it, not today, not tomorrow. Never again.

"No. I don't want anything from you. Now leave."

He raises a brow, a small laugh of disbelief escaping his lips, "And since when did you think you could call the shots, sweetheart? In case you forgot, you're in _our_ dungeon, and you'll do what we say."

I raise a lip, a silent snarl, "Oh really? Go on, then. Make me do what you want, see where it gets you."

His lips press together, whitening as his anger begins to rise through him, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

"Cas, work your mojo on her man. We ain't got time for this."

"But Dean-" the angel starts, but is quickly cut off with a wave of Dean's hand.

"Don't wanna hear it. Knock her out, I'll force it down her throat."

I snort, "That didn't work out too well for you last time."

He smiles, rolling up his sleeves before picking up the drink. The smile makes me uncomfortable, it's a chilling curve of his mouth that resurrects a bone deep nervousness within me. But I shove it aside with a stiffening of the spine, daring him with my eyes to try it, to try and take what he wants from me.

Cas is the curve ball though, because as he approaches, arm beginning to rise I realise two things. One, he's an angel, and two, this means that he has an unfair advantage. One that Dean does not possess, an advantage that I did not take into account.

When he rushes me I attempt to move back, but he's fast and I'm chained down, so the moment those two fingers press against my forehead my muscles seize, like a fork of electricity shuddering through my limbs. Vision blurs, and I'm too out of it to really stop the liquid as it coats my tongue, as it coasts down my throat. I cough, mostly because it goes down the wrong hole at first, but it's for nought.

Cas moves away once I've ingested it all, and I slump forwards, mouth loose. Liquid drips off of my lip like a cold tap, and I look up. Dean's smirking face meets my eyes as he braces himself against his knees, cocking his head to the side.

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

I don't reply. I don't have chance too, because the drink works its way through my system fast. I try to spit out a curse, to cuss him out, but the only response I give is to fall back, thankful when my head hits the pillow.

Dean watches, silent as his frame begins to dissolve.

I blink, before passing out completely.

* * *

 _Dean_

The moment she's out the boys work quickly, silently as they each take on their roles, familiar with the new routine now. Castiel wavers a little when Dean hands him the drink, and the elder Winchester claps a hand onto his shoulder, concern pulling at his brow.

"You still up for this, Cas? Especially after that?"

There's a beat of silence, the two Winchesters holding their breath as they wait. They release it when he nods in response and Dean lets him go with a nod, parking his ass down in his own chair.

They don't wait, no, they're too hell bent on getting in and out as soon as possible. Cas stated shortly afterwards that the little trip last time did more to him than he anticipated, so this time they're going to do it a little differently. Namely through the way they're going to experience the memories. Instead of sitting through an entire memory, they'll skim through them, staying long enough to understand the context before leaving if necessary.

Well, Cas will skim through it. Sam and Dean will probably just plod along behind him, hoping that they don't throw up once he decides to the throw the dream world for a loop.

Dean quickly drinks the dream root, licking his lips before slamming the cup back onto the table. It doesn't take long, and Dean allows himself to fall back, forces his muscles to settle, to accept the sleep that's inevitable.

His consciousness slips into another form and the shift is simultaneously abrupt and smooth once again. When he opens his eyes, he recognises the house they're in, the same one from last time. Cas is already there, peering into a… a crib?

A wooden one that sits off to the side of the room, basking in the firelight. Eve stands beside Cas, except her expression is vastly different to that of the Angels. She's glaring down into the crib like it's a portal to hell, and not carrying what Dean presumes is a child.

Dean joins Cas, quickly going over to the crib.

The baby stares back curiously as he leans over the opening, with big blue eyes that are the spitting image of the girl trying to kill him. Except this little girl has blonde hair, not dark hair, and she holds an innocence to her that doesn't exist in the only other girl in this room right now.

"Uh," Dean says, quirking a brow, "That baby look a little big to you?"

It's definitely no new born, and Eve's mother gave birth to it the last time they were here. No, this baby has to be at least six months old, at least.

And judging by Eve's fierce expression, she hasn't earned her older sisters favour during her short time on earth.

There's something in the depths of Eve's eyes, something that makes his gut turn with worry. A coldness, a lack of love.

Those cobalt eyes narrow a little, and Dean grabs Cas's arm, tensing.

"Woah, she's not gonna kill the baby or something, is she?" Because it definitely looks that way right now, "'Cos Cas, I'm not down for watching some weird sibling fight club."

Cas frowns, eyes flickering across Dean's face before he leans over the crib again, "No, I do not believe that Eve kills her."

Sam appears then, joined by the mother on the opposite side of the room. Dean straightens as the younger Winchester scurries over to them, "Where the hell have you been?"

Sam shrugs, "I thought Eve was waking up, turns out she's just… I don't know, tossing in her sleep?"

Weird. Before Dean can comment though, the mother is talking.

"Evelyn."

The name resembles a curse more than anything, and the young girl besides them stiffens, jerking out of her reverie of hatred as she looks up sharply.

"Away from her. You know you're not supposed to be out of the basement until your uncle returns."

Dark brows pinch together, but she nods quickly and with her head low she heads to the stairs, the ones that lead to the creepy ass basement from before. Dean watches her go with a frown.

He wouldn't tell a kid to go down there alone; hell, _he'd_ be a bit apprehensive to go down there alone. It oozes ominous energy. The stairs are steep and there's no light, and the smell… Stale and damp, mixed with copper.

Dean approaches the beginning of the stairwell, sniffing lightly. Yeah, that copper smell is definitely blood. He casts a look over his shoulder, finding similar expressions of apprehension on his two companion's faces.

This is sick. Wrong.

Dean has seen a lot of things in his time to know when something just isn't right, to know when something is amiss. Rather than waiting for them he follows the little girl down into the basement, the stairs creaking with each step he takes.

If it weren't for the fact that he's one hundred percent sure that the occupants of this house can't see him, he would tread more carefully, but with the darkness beginning to blanket him, to blot out his vision he doesn't care for subtlety.

Exhaling slowly, he feels for the walls, grimacing as dust comes away on his fingers. When his hands encounter a door and then the handle, he grins and opens it, tensing as it creaks.

Inside is… it's not what he expected at all.

Not by a long shot.

The room is quite large, enough so to house nooks and crannies that the small candle light cannot hope to illuminate, swathes of darkness that whisper danger. The floor is stone, and it's stained in various places, the dark patches a worryingly familiar colour.

Dean moves further inside, taking slow cautious steps as he drinks the room in. Close to the centre of the room is a bed – no, a rack would be a better description.

Sweat blooms across his brow at the sight.

It looks achingly familiar, and he wrenches his gaze away as images from a time he longs to forget begin to creep their way into his head. He steadfastly ignores the manacles at the edges of the rack, ignores the way it's tilted to hold someone almost horizontal, so any blood that spills can be drained off.

Instead he focuses on the other objects that hang from the walls and decorate the sides, although they invite similar images.

Tools, the likes he's only ever seen in a horror movie or hell itself border the walls, and once again those same walls have runes and wards etched into them, etched into the floors, hell, even the rack itself hosts symbols that he's never seen before.

And off to the side stands Eve. She's pacing a little, her eyes flickering around every so often, landing on the spaces the light doesn't quite reach before they fly to the door. Each minute sound drags her attention sharply in its direction.

Why the hell is she down here? Why are they sending her down here?

Where's the medieval equivalent to pink walls and Barbie dolls? Where's the toys and the innocence?

No kid should see this.

A soft, almost indiscernible sound alerts him to the presence of a newcomer, and he twists, fully expecting to see Castiel or Sam. When Algernon appears he curses, because the brute is trouble.

And the place lends to that persona, it amplifies it. Dean straightens as the dude walks through him, sending a disgusting wave of nausea through his frame. Dean holds down the heave that threatens to make an appearance, grimacing.

He's pretty much a ghost here – it stands to reason that if he gets in the way, they'll walk right through him. He's about as useful as a chocolate fire guard in this form, and he feels the uselessness pull at his thoughts as Algernon approaches the centre of the room.

She follows the man too, her eyes never straying from his frame as she slowly begins to back up, the darkened corners no longer the main threat.

Algernon barely pays her any attention as he heads to a table closest to the rack, gently placing a box of items on it. Dean peers over the man's shoulder, eyeing the contents. Bones, herbs and God knows what else. Nothing he recognises, and the longer he focuses on them the more his head aches, the more his muscles tense and pull, so he looks away.

They're going to have to find something to stop that – how are they supposed to the use the dreams to their advantage if anytime they actually try to study something their heads begin to explode?

Algernon sets the items out carefully, silently, and once he's done he grunts in Eve's direction, beckoning her forwards.

Eve swallows, and Dean implores her with his eyes. Don't go, don't do it. Just… just fucking run.

But of course, she goes to the man, eyes wide and fingers clenched.

As soon as she reaches him he turns to her, a rope in his hands.

"Hands out," he grunts, and Eve hesitates.

The hesitation has Dean pausing too, eyes flicking to the man. Alger-whatever doesn't take the momentary lapse lightly, and his face tightens into a sneer, "I don't have time for yer insubordination today, girl. You know what's coming. Wrists, now."

Eve nods, lips pressing together as she extends her hands. The stairs creak behind Dean once again, but this time – thankfully – it's his brother, followed shortly by the angel. They both step into the room unprepared, their brows shooting up once they take it in.

"Can you make sense of… of any of this?" Dean says to Cas, nodding to the room.

"No," he replies, eyes narrowing.

When Algernon has finished binding Eve's wrists together, Dean steps back a little, eyes landing on his brother.

"What the hell is all of this?" Sam says, "And why is he tying her up?"

Dean shrugs, watching as the two move to the centre of the room, directly above a drain.

"I don't know, but I don't like it," Dean mutters, "It's all too… none of this is helpful," he finishes, changing tactics.

The thud of skin on skin stops their conversation abruptly, drawing their shocked gazes to the centre of the room, just in time to see Eve collapse to the ground, now sporting a blindfold and a rapidly bruising jaw.

"Up," Algernon grunts, rubbing his knuckles, "And this time, I want you to remain on your feet."

How the hell is she supposed to do that?

But before he can take the next swing, before Eve can return to her full height, the room blurs, melting away before disappearing completely. It's an abrupt transition, one that gives no warning as the dungeon disintegrates. Colours twist and fizzle out, until they solidify slowly into a new form, objects gaining clarity.

Dean steps back.

Are they outside?

Yeah, outside, definitely outside. The basement is replaced by darkened clouds, ready to burst at any moment and a less than subtle breeze.

They're stood in a small clearing of flattened dirt, and as Dean takes in his surroundings he sees the house, only now it's behind the trio. Trees line the perimeter and Dean stumbles as the ground shifts before retuning almost instantly. Sam sways too, catching himself before he can fall, scowling at the ground as the miniature earthquake subsides. The only one who looks remotely prepared for the change in scenery is Cas, so Dean frowns his way.

"Uh, little warning next time Cas?"

Cas raises a dark brow, nodding, "I apologise, the memory was not truly relevant to our cause, however the runes and wards were surprisingly familiar. So I decided to follow the train of thought and memories, accelerating them."

"Naturally," Dean says, "So how long's it been this time? A day, a month?"

Materialising in the centre of the clearing is Algernon and Eve, and they square off from one another, circling ever so slightly, like they're sparring or something.

Cas regards them carefully before replying, "Six months."

Six months?!

God, he can sort of tell, too. Eve seems to have grown a little, shooting up a couple of inches despite being small still. She's thin, too, although she's gained a little muscle definition in her arms, along with a few white, fresh scars. A few thin lines that wind her biceps, small but still very much present. Familiar, because he sports them too in the odd place, results of a fight with whatever monster decided to turn up that week.

Eve's arms look like they've met the wrong side of a knife. He would think that they're self inflicted, but they're a little out of the way and too jagged to really suggest that she did them herself. And it's not as if her family is above hurting her.

Those scarred arms swing towards Algernon in quick succession, the one-two jabs easily deflected by the older man. The attack is a little sloppy, uncoordinated and with the weight and height difference it's no wonder why Algernon can simply bat her fists away, before swiping her legs out from under her.

Eve lands on her back with a grunt, blinking up at the sky and Dean frowns, wincing at the battered state of her face.

She's sporting a bruised split lip, and her nose is spilling blood freely, the fountain of red doubled by the stream leaking out of a cut near her brow. Ignoring the cuts on her face, it's a mess a bruises too, some old and some new.

"Holy shit," Dean mutters, "He's beating the shit out of her. How old is she here, Cas?"

Castiel's hands find his pockets, and his blue eyes narrow, "12, nearly 13."

"Damn," Sam says, joining Dean's side, "You'd think he'd take it easy on her considering she's half his size. I mean, I doubt I could take a hit from him without feeling it the next day."

Dean grunts in agreement as Eve stumbles up, her own brow puckering.

"I…" she wipes the blood away from her lip with the back of her hand, "Uncle, I don't want to do this anymore," she mutters, wavering on her feet. The man scowls deeply, watching as she begins to turn.

Dean sees it, Eve doesn't. Algernon's face is red as he storms forwards, anger radiating off of him and he lashes out, grasping her hair in a firm grip and pulling her back.

"Did I say you could walk away? Did I say that today's session was over?"

Eve grunts, eyes widening, "N-No!"

He lets her go with a shove, and Eve stumbles before righting herself, facing him once again.

"You know 'yer training takes priority," he snarls, pointing a meaty finger, "Yer don't get to decide when to stop, girl."

She sighs, working her jaw, eyes sparking, "I don't want to though."

Algernon grins, a slow smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, "Doesn't matter," and then his eyes rise above her head. Dean follows his gaze, finding the mother stepping out of the house with the baby in her arms, glaring down at them. When she raises a single brow, Eve sighs again, her head dropping low before she shakes away the pain, bracing herself once again. Her cobalt eyes scan the woman on the other side of the clearing, passing briefly over the ever growing baby in her arms. The scornful look is hard to miss, but she's turning back to Algernon before the mother can comment on it.

The solid thump of her body hitting the ground again isn't too surprising.

The ground shivers beneath his feet, and Dean lifts a foot before glancing at Cas. When the sky begins to shiver and waver, the image seems to speed up, like watching a day go by through a camera. Day turns to dusk rapidly.

"Are you doing this?" Dean says. The constant shift of colours and blurring of sight is inducing a sense of vertigo so strong, the urge to throw up is creeping up on him quickly. Sam looks a little woozy too as he watches the scene speed up.

"Yes," Cas says, eyes scanning their surroundings, "Again, I'm accelerating the memory."

Dean opens his mouth, ready to ask the angel to at least warn them before doing it but the memory collapses before he can, moulding and reforming in a dizzying array of colours, like confetti being thrown into the wind.

When it finally stops it's night, and a frigid wind blasts through Dean's clothes.

The angel is moving before the two brothers can grill him on their new situation, heading straight for the trees.

"Cas?" Dean says, repeating his name a little louder when he doesn't reply the first time, "Where you going? What – Damn it, come on," he jogs to keep up, leaving the house behind.

Cas isn't focusing on them at all, and Dean quells the small surge of irritation at this. The guy obviously has a bead on something, but would it kill him to clue them in once in a while? They don't have angelic powers, so whatever he's doing – whoever he's following, whilst it may be obvious to him is definitely not obvious to Dean.

Especially as the wood thickens, tangled snarls of foliage blocking their path. Cas merely steps over the unruly branches, and Sam and Dean scramble to follow him, cursing as the wayward branches snag on their clothes. The angel's beige overcoat is hard to make out in the limited light, and Dean fights to keep his friend in sight, mindful of his brother currently struggling behind him.

When the first tell-tale signs of a struggle become apparent on the trees, Dean hesitates for a second. His years of being a hunter have attuned his eyes to the things that are out of place, that are not quite right, such as a snapped twig barely hanging onto the over-extended branches, or the mess of leaves on the ground, a result of someone brushing harshly past a bush or tree. The scarlet drops of liquid are alarming, and Dean doubles his efforts.

Cas is nowhere in sight now, but Dean follows the destruction the man has left behind, relieved when the angel comes into sight a few minutes later.

But the scent of blood has him pausing, and Cas's back is ramrod straight, tense. Dean breathes slowly, stepping out of the trees into the small clearing, if it can even be called that. More a gap in the trees, and he blinks as the scene unfolds before him.

A deer, that's the thing that draws his attention the most. It sticks out like a sore thumb in the waning moonlight, and it's breathing heavily enough to produce clouds of air out of its nose. An arrow sticks out of his side, blood trickling down from the wound and behind the deer crouches Algernon, his eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. A lewd smile pulls at his lips, and he rests a palm on the side of the deer.

Eve stands before him, her back to the trio.

She's got a knife in one hand, but her fingers are white they're clenched so hard around it, and she's barely breathing, barely moving.

"Come on, we haven't got all night. This is yer first kill, Eve. You've already done the hard part, now you just gotta slit its throat."

Eve shakes her head, dark hair spilling out of the loose bun.

"I – I don't want to," she groans, and her voice is clogged with tears. Even from here, even when he can't see her face Dean knows that she's crying.

Algernon sighs, head dropping forwards, "I'm not asking, Eve. I'm telling ya!" he snaps, voice rising in the quiet stillness of the night, "Now get your arse over 'ere, and kill this deer. Before I have to do it. And if I have to do it, you won't like what comes next.

A small hiccup comes out of Eve as she flexes the hand with the knife, and a shiver travels down her frame before she moves forwards, moving to a crouch besides the deer's head. For a second it seems like she's going to do it, and Dean leans forwards, mouth open but she loses her nerve, dropping the knife. It lands with a soft thud into the ground, "No! No, I – I can't do – I don't want to do it, I can't," she cries, an agonised whisper.

Algernon snaps, his hand flying out to grasp the back of her neck. Eve is dragged forwards, a yelp escaping her as he shoves her head down, next to the arrow, "See this! This is what you did already. You've already signed the death warrant, girl. You've already killed it. Now do what I tell ya, 'fore I get your ma down here."

That seems to do it, because Eve picks up the knife with shaky fingers. Algernon lets her go, eyes dark as he watches and Eve trembles, breathing in shakily.

Dean's stomach turns, because the memory is achingly familiar yet vastly different to a memory of his own youth. The time their dad tried to get them to hunt a deer, but Sam and himself, they refused to kill it. Refused point blank.

Except John didn't threaten them when they refused.

Algernon does, and Dean grimaces as Eve presses the knife to the deer's neck, her hand shaking so badly he expects her to drop it.

The animal is still breathing heavily, and Eve whispers a broken 'sorry' before slicing deep. Blood spurts out immediately, coating her pale hands and the young girl cries out, scrambling back as the warm liquid cascades out further, soaking the ground quickly.

Eve shoves a blood soaked hand to her face, masking her sobs as she moves back, but her eyes are no longer on the deer, no. They're on Algernon.

He looks furious, and as he stands his already red face reddens further, features contorting, "You apologised? Do you have any idea what you're going to become? Do you? Apologising for killing an animal," he scoffs, "That's nothing compared to what you'll soon be doing."

Dean raises a brow. Talk about foreshadowing.

It's hard because it's painfully obvious that whatever this is, whatever is happening right now, it's a direct path that leads to Evelyn's current form. And watching it unfold is... it's confusing

Dean desperately holds onto the image of Eve standing over him in the alley, picturing the way her eyes bled black, mimicking the demons he so loves to destroy. He focuses on the way that darkness bled onto her cheeks in swirls and patterns, her canines lengthening, unlike anything he's ever seen before.

He holds the image, replaying it as her clenched fists swung at his face repeatedly, eventually turning into a dull thud that barely registered after a while. She's a hell of a lot stronger than he anticipated, but he supposes that that's dark magic for you. Her lean frame betrays the hidden strength within, her curves and femininity in the present deceive the eye. He solidifies the vision of her in full rampage mood in the present in his mind, and not the girl currently weeping over a fallen animal.

When the scene shifts again, Dean breathes out a sigh of relief, relaxing instantly as the ground shivers beneath his feet and the scene morphs, greens blending into reds. Except this time the image doesn't stabilise, this time the ground continues to shake and Dean casts a frantic glance around the area, watching as colours morph into one another, objects taking form before disintegrating again.

Cas collapses and Dean rushes forwards, barely catching the man before he slams into the ground. Sam is on his tail, grabbing Cas's other arm and holding him up.

"Cas, get us out of here, it's not worth you passing out man," Sam says, and the angel stares blearily up at them, blinking before nodding.

And with that, they wake up. Dean is prepared for it this time, but he still gasps and lurches forwards. His ass remains in the seat though and as reality swims into focus he holds his head in his hands, groaning when the headache of the century begins to take root at the base of his skull.

Sam groans too, fingers massaging his temples, "What the hell happened there? It was all fine until-"

Cas's groan cuts him off, but the angel looks a lot better than he did last time. No blood leaks out of his nose, but there is something clutched in his hands. A pen and paper, and the angel is hastily scribbling away on it.

"What you got there, man?" Sam says, leaning over the arm of his chair. Cas just shakes his head, holding up a hand as his brow furrows deeply. Seconds tick by in silence as the two brothers watch him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

When he's finished he leans back, exhaustion plain on his face. Tired eyes look up finally, meeting the searching gazes of the Winchesters.

"I… the runes. The wards, they were fighting me, but I managed to get one down. One that I believe is causing the most havoc with my ability to see into Eve's mind. It may not be accurate, as the longer I tried to see into it the harder it became to maintain the dream whilst also ensuring the other wards did not tear us apart. But I believe I have something."

"So what does this mean?"

A small smile pulls at Cas's lips, "I'm not too sure, yet. Although I have a feeling that this is one of the main ones that are protecting Eve's mind. If we can manage to circumvent this one, then we should be able to see her memories more easily."

Dean nods, "Sounds good to me," he stands, stretching. Joints pop and click into place, and he sighs when he settles once again, "Sketch us a copy and we'll look through the Men of Letters archives, see if we find anything that's similar."

Sam's brows rise, "Uh, since when did you volunteer for research?"

Dean shrugs, "Contrary to popular belief Sammy, I do pick up a book once in a while. 'Specially if it means I won't end up dead."

Sam nods after a moment, smirking. Dean chooses not to read into his brothers response.

Cas gives them a copy of the ward and they take it up with them once they've packed everything away. Eve begins to stir just as they're closing up, and Dean flicks the light off, shutting the door quickly.

There's no chance in hell he wants to be there when she wakes up, not after the force feeding stunt they pulled earlier. Even in chains the girl can be intimidating, not that he would ever admit that out loud. Still, as he enters the library, heading straight for the books lining the walls he can't help but feel a little optimistic.

If they can get around this ward, they can hurry this whole thing up and they can finally get Eve out of their hair. He won't have to delve deeper into her mind. He won't have to face the prospect of finding a shred of humanity inside of her, something that will distort the view he has of her now. Because so far, what he's seen seems to have engrained itself into his head. An uncomfortable presence that infiltrates his mind whenever he's not paying attention. Her bruised face forces out her angered one, and it plays like a broken record. Dean doesn't want anything else being added to it, not if he can help it.

So he doubles his efforts, combing through the records, a copy of the ward in his hands.

He'll be damned if he doesn't find anything by the time they have to go back down there.

A cough draws his attention away from the books for a moment, and he glances up to see Sam watching him carefully.

"You finally taking what I said before a little more seriously now?" his younger brother says, and Dean purses his lips.

The conversation they had is one that has been repeated for the last… what, ten years now? It's the same one they had before he went to HHHell, and it's the same one he had with himself in his head all those years ago. It's the same conversation he had with Bobby outside in the lot, and it's the same one he had with Castiel the very moment he first met the Angel.

When Dean doesn't answer, Sam continues.

"Because we need you to take this seriously, Dean. We need you to care, because if you don't… What chance do we have?"

Dean almost scoffs; instead he chooses to drink the whisky he poured himself earlier.

"Cas and I… we can only do so much. But we need you to care too, Dean. We need you to want to live."

There it is, the same old same old. The declaration that Dean needs to care about his life. And in some way the conversation they had earlier has manipulated him to a certain extent. He remembers saying to Sam that he'll research because it concerns his life now, when in reality the main reason he's researching is so he can get rid of the broad downstairs, and move on with their lives. But if moving on means saving Sammy and Cas at the same time at the expense of his own life, so be it. Because in the end, if they don't – if they can't remove this curse, if Eve kills him?

They'll be free of this mess, they'll be able to walk away, just not in the way they want to.

"Sammy," Dean says, voice low, "I… You know if this all goes south?"

Sam closes his eyes, defeat written across his face because he knows, and Dean knows that Sam is aware of exactly what he's going to say. But he's got to say it, he's got to make sure.

"If this all goes to hell, I don't want you retaliating, okay? You let me stay dead, and you leave it alone. You don't go after Eve and you don't go after the witches, you hear me?"

Sam pauses, eyes searching his brother's face before replying with a short nod, "But only if you try. Only if you try to stop this, even if it means you read every damn book in this place, you do it."

Dean works his jaw, considering this. It's a small request, and if it means that if he dies his brother walks away, then so be it, "Deal."

Sam nods, although the worried frown doesn't disappear. But what else can he do? What more can he promise?

At the end of the day, if it comes down to his life or their safety? Dean knows what he would pick, and what he would pick every time.

Sammy comes first.

* * *

 _Eve_

I breathe in sharply, the dry air whistling down my throat as the smell of the dungeon returns abruptly, chasing away the scent of fresh blood.

Deer blood. Scalding hot.

God, my stomach churns as the scent rolls over me in waves, the feeling indescribable.

That deer... God, it was the first thing that I ever killed. The first thing that they made me kill.

Looking back now, it seems obvious what they were doing but at the time I was in the dark, unsure of what they were doing and why they were doing the things they were to me.

And her face… still so innocent, still so small. So undeserved of my hatred.

It aches to think about it so I roll over instead, thankful that the chains still give a little. At least they didn't tighten it back up before they left.

As soon as I sit up my neck twinges, a result of presumably passing out and sleeping at a bad angle thanks to those two idiots. I didn't know Cas had it in him to do that but I should have guessed it. I mean, he's an Angel for Christs sake, he's probably got a tonne of freaky hidden powers that I cannot hope to combat when I'm rendered powerless like this.

I run a hand down my face, exhausted despite the forced sleep.

Maybe I shouldn't fight them, because it clearly makes no difference in the long run. I could probably focus my energy on more important things, or use their willingness to provide luxuries to my advantage instead.

Yet as I consider taking the drink willingly part of me still refuses, because it definitely is the root cause of all of these memories resurfacing. Memories that I haven't thought about or pointedly ignored for years now. Why would I willingly want to put myself through that?

Well. It looks like I don't really have a choice in the matter. It's not like I can stop the Angel from fucking with my body now, is it?

I sit in the dark for a while, contemplating the situation as time progresses, slugging onwards. My stomach rumbles every so often, hunger beginning to gnaw at my insides and I glance towards the door more times than I should, waiting for them to arrive, searching for the signs of a meal.

It's killing me, relying on them as much as I am, and surges of motivation have me attempting to pry the handcuffs off, only to give up with a huff when they don't budge. It's like a cycle, every few hours or minutes I attempt it, my wrists burning with the repeated abuse but it's no use, just like it wasn't the first time I attempted it.

They aren't coming off. The only way I'm getting out of this is if I rip my own arm off or if I get the key.

When the door unlocks with a metallic clang a couple hours later, drawing me out of the apathetic slump I've found myself in I look up from my perch on the bed, my legs aching from being crossed for so long. My hands rest peacefully in my lap now, but when the light flickers on the sharp contrast of red between my legs has me glancing down in alarm. Maybe my hands aren't so peaceful.

Flakes of dried up blood covers them. I didn't even realise that I'd cut my wrists when I tried to pry them off earlier, and I raise a brow as I take in the little mess I've made. I guess I'm just thankful that the blood is because of my hands, and not my period deciding to make an appearance.

God that would be more awkward than that time I had to eat out of Dean's hands.

When someone grunts from the doorway I look up, brows still raised.

"What?"

It's Dean, and he's carrying food so I'm not immediately trying to murder him with my eyes. Instead I focus on the meal on the plate, mouth watering a little.

My appetite vanishes pretty quickly though when I see what accompanies the food.

That bloody drink.

"No," I mutter, and Dean straightens.

"What?"

"I don't want the drink."

He raises a brow my way, silent as the two other men enter the room.

"I'll take the food," I add on, nodding towards the plate, "But not the drink."

Dean smirks, "It's both, or none."

Jaw working, I eye the food, watching as the heat from the food rises from the plate, curling into the air. At the end of the day they're going to force that shit down my throat, regardless. So I may as well just drink it, at least it's a choice then. Plus, at least I can avoid a repeat of last time, because their visits are becoming horribly repetitive.

Look at me. Look at what I've become. Where's the fight?

When did I even have any fight in me in the first place?

Sure, I had a bit of snark, a bit of sarcasm that may have come across as rebellion when someone takes it at face value, but in the end I take what comes my way passively. I accept it because I don't care. Not anymore. I feel like I should, but I don't.

It's weird, this cycle that I go through. Annoying and at times completely frustrating. I'm a tragic mixture of not caring at all for a while before caring a little too much. And then that urge to care dissipates like smoke in the wind, a fleeting moment of clarity that is quashed by reality. Why care when it doesn't matter what I think or what I want? Why worry when whatever happens is inevitable?

And then I fight back, because why should it have to be inevitable? Why should _I_ have to suffer this fate?

And then the fight leaves me, it disappears as quickly as it came and I surrender. Because I remember everything that I've done, and everything that I will eventually end up doing. Like killing Dean. I deserve it, now. Before? Maybe not. But now?

I deserve everything I get.

And thus the cycle is born, and thus the cycle continues. I don't care, I care, I fight, and I give up. And then I care again.

I've had enough. So it's evident that I'm partaking in the not-caring stage once again, and eventually I nod, too hungry to really care about the consequences. If the nightmares come, let them. It's payment for the shit I've done, for the shit I've caused.

I eat quietly after this, eyes focused solely on the food as I politely ignore the whispered conversations the men have. And when Dean passes the drink to me I take it willingly, pausing for a second before drinking it whole.

It's not too long before it starts to kick in, although as I shuffle back onto the bed it's not as strong, it doesn't pull at me and fight back, because I'm not fighting it anymore. The transition is a little easier already.

That is until, I catch a thread of the conversation they're having, and it rouses me back into consciousness as efficiently as an ice bath would do.

I jerk back into the present, opening my eyes as the quiet disbelief, as the rage begins to rise, hampered by the drink.

Just a few words, a few words that in that particular order are worrisome, to say the least. A phrase that they should not know the context behind.

"…her mother and Algernon, and with that little girl, too?"

It's startling, surprising and overwhelming. Hard to process as my brain turns to soup.

"What did you say?"

The words feel slurred but they're clear enough to attract their attention, and I clench my fists, muscles tingling as they fight the drink. Still, I find the energy to sit up, ignoring the exhaustion.

The three men jerk back as I face them, eyes wide as a familiar and very much appreciated wave of power rushes through me, purring and curling around me, a welcome wash of warmth that chases away the coldness of the poison coursing through me.

It's an odd feeling, fuelled by anger – it's enough to keep me upright for a little longer, and the flicker of fear and curiosity in their eyes is satisfying as my vision sharpens, eyes bleeding black. Dean freaked out a little bit the last time my powers broke free of the cuffs, albeit minutely. So when their features begin to become more defined, the way the veins in their necks pound away, pulsing with increased abandon as I turn my gaze over them, it's not a surprise that they're confused.

"What did you say?" I bark, canines dropping, lengthening until they touch my bottom lip, "How… how do you know about them?"

"Ah shit," Dean mutters, hand going to the gun strapped to his waist, "I thought she was out, guys."

Sam nods, swallowing, "Me too, uh… Cas? You want to handle this?"

Castiel's squinted gaze focuses on me and I narrow my eyes in return.

"How do you know?" I repeat.

There's an intensity to the air, like a prelude to a storm, a storm of lightning and thunder. It crackles as time presses on, furious and waiting for someone to say something – anything.

"How's she fighting the dream root?" Sam mutters, before slamming his lips together. Dean shoots him a furious glare and I raise a brow.

"Dream root?" I whisper. Where have I heard of that before?

For a moment it saps away the energy of the room, transforming it into one that lulls for a second, calming as confusion dominates anger.

I try to search through the useless bouts of information that stream forwards, uncoordinated because of the effects of the drink, but it's no use. Instead I store the information, pulling on the cuffs instead. They fight back, and as my muscles begin to give out, especially as Cas's eyes begin to glow a little, I sink back onto the bed, blinking as my vision returns to normal.

"I won't forget," I mutter, "I.."

And I'm out.


	18. Chapter 17: One Foot In The Grave

**Hi everyone!**

 **I just want to apologise for the time it took to upload this, and assure anyone who's still reading that I will be continuing it!**

 **It's essay/exam season at Uni, so I've barely had time to write. I thought it had been like, two weeks since I uploaded the last chapter and nearly died when I realised it's been a month!**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one, I'm trying different ways of conveying Eve's memories so hopefully the change is good, let me know if it is or not**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

 **17: One Foot In The Grave**

 _Dean_

"Holy shit," Dean says, "Did you see the way she just sat back up? Like something out of the exorcist? Hell, that was…"

"Creepy?" Sam supplies, taking his drink, "Yeah, I know."

"And now she knows about the dream root," Castiel murmurs, eyes focused on her sleeping form.

"Yeah, nice going Sammy. Wanna tell her where we hide the key too?"

Sam grimaces, "It slipped out, she surprised me. My bad, guys."

Dean snorts, dream root in hand, "Well, you can deal with that after we get this over with."

Sam looks ready to argue but Dean turns away, settling into his chair. He's still uneasy with the whole prospect of dancing around in Eve's head, but now that they have a thread on what the ward Cas hastily scribbled down could mean – a vague, almost indistinguishable mention and sketch of the ward in a book, one that was dusty enough to suggest that it hasn't been opened in a _long_ time – it's not as daunting.

The book itself suggested that the ward caused a 'splintering effect', dividing attention and power, scattering it. Any initial defensive or offensive magic will become effectively useless if they stay in her head for too long, allowing the other runes and wards to attack them with no form of protection. Without a shield, without the metaphorical armour that Cas supplies, they're vulnerable, and that may be the reason behind why they always feel like shit after they do this for a few days. Dean's sick of raiding the cupboards for some Tylenol.

So, Cas is going to try something new this time around, something to deviate the wards attention, turn it back on itself although if Dean's being honest, he stopped listening almost immediately. Cas tends to go into depth about the logistics and details behind his methods, despite the explanations not making a lick of sense to those who are not well versed in angel mojo.

Most importantly though, is the fact that Cas is going into this a little bit more cheerfully, if the angel can ever be described as cheerful. He seems to have a sense of purpose now, and Dean nods at Cas when the angel glances his way.

He drinks the dream root fast, and leans back, accepting the waterfall of sleep.

Cas is there when he 'wakes up', so is Sam. And Dean surveys the new setting they're in with bleak eyes, expecting - no, knowing that whatever they're about to see is going to leave him with a sour taste in his mouth.

* * *

 _Eve_

The weather is particularly harsh today, harsher than it has been for years now. Winter has always been something that looms beyond the horizon, a threatening force that has the people of the village scurrying around months before hand to ensure their survival once it finally arrives. They have to be prepared, they have to have enough food and warmth to last the winter, because temperatures drop fast.

Standing along the shoreline that marks the cliff, the cold is a welcome distraction however. It rises from the sea, chasing the wind as it crests over the cliff before swallowing the village at the bottom of the hill. It carries the scent of the ocean with it, and mixed with the cold it's a fresh and sharp scent, stinging the noses of those who breathe it in.

Others turn away, clutching their coats tighter, hoping to stave it for a little longer.

I don't. I breathe it in deeply, relishing the lungful of air. It distracts from the pain, numbing it even, chasing it away for just a fleeting moment.

It's my favourite time of day now, a beautiful period where the sky turns pink, the sun clings to the last remnants of day and colours become muted. They change and soften, warming despite the cold.

It's soothing, but the bite of pain in my lower back draws me out of my reverie and I grit my teeth behind closed lips.

When I turn, I'm not surprised to see Algernon with a hunting blade in his hand, the tip that undoubtedly nudged my back pointing towards me.

"Was that necessary?" I snap, and the bite behind my words has him frowning.

"Watch yer tone, I only tapped ya. And we're not out here to admire the view, we're here to-"

"To what?" I interrupt, "Kill something? Fight some more? Or maybe you just want me to stand there and let you beat me?"

His face reddens, the ruddy colour darkening and I bite my tongue. I don't know where it comes from sometimes, the anger. It's not like I'm unaware of the consequences of my attitude. They're relentless, and now with the baby… the new toy. They've worsened the beatings. I've been forced to move into the damp, medieval basement, for goodness sake.

When he grabs my arm, his grip painfully tight I look away, down, cringing as his hot breath coasts across my neck, "If that's what it takes to get you ta realise that you ain't got a choice no more, then yeah."

No choice.

I swallow, stumbling when he throws my arm away. Already red marks are beginning to bloom from where his fingers were, joining the many marks that already mar my skin. I rub at the area softly, cursing my renegade tongue.

"You done yer reading?" he finally says, motioning for me to follow. I do so when the hunting knife winks in the waning light, taunting me.

"Yes."

"All of it?" he pushes, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He's waiting for it, waiting for the admission. This game only means one thing - he knows. There's no sense in lying.

I sigh, flexing my fingers, "No."

It's all he needs. He rounds on me, backing me to the edge of the cliff with a powerful stride and it's all I can do to try and not trip over as the sheer drop down below becomes apparent. It's a long drop, one that ends in jagged rocks and the yawning mouth of the ocean. A sure death if one were not to leap far enough, and as he forces me to the periphery of the cliff I swallow hard, chest tightening, heart beating hard and fast.

When I teeter over the edge, his face mere inches from my own I groan, the sound slipping out as my balance wavers.

He wouldn't let me fall, surely not?

Then all of the work he's done, she's done would be wasted.

He grabs my shirt at the last second and I yelp, hands clutching his closed fist as I get a full glimpse of what awaits below. Water sloshes up the side, frothing at the mouth, daring anyone to take a dive.

"The next time I find out yer haven't finished yer reading," he spits, "I'll throw yer off this cliff meself, you hear me?"

I nod, because as the wind circles around us it pulls us both forwards a bit, and my fragile footing on the grassy edge wavers.

When he doesn't pull me up I nod frantically, "Yes! Yes, I hear you, please!"

"Please what?"

My eyes water involuntarily, and I can't stop looking between him and the fall below. Part of me wonders what would happen if I were to just jump, to just leap and take him with me. Would that be a better option? Or is facing him better?

In the end I choose to face him, not nearly as brave as I ought to be and I blink, eyes burning, "Please – don't drop me," a hiccup interrupts my words, and I feel the wetness build on my cheeks.

He sneers, but eventually pulls me back up. I scramble onto the earth with a grateful shudder, breathing in deeply.

"We're here," he says, drawing my attention, "to greet your new best friend," and he grins.

"What?"

"A birthday present for turning 13," he supplies, "Now the real fun starts."

* * *

They drag us both down into the basement, him tied up and wide eyed, myself shaking and pale.

He looks old although I can't really tell. I'm not good with ages, nor am I terribly good with faces. But I haven't seen his face before, not in the village nor in the outskirts of it. His eyes shift back and forth, focusing intently on my mother and Algernon as they move around the room, watching them with an intensity that I've never seen before… it's strange.

There's an aura that surrounds him, something that ignites the age old instinct to be wary, a feeling within ones gut to keep their distance, to watch and remain unseen.

He's predatory, almost. Even beneath the blanket of fear that causes a sheen of sweat to dot his brow; that causes his mouth to work against the cloth covering it.

"Bring her," my mother eventually mutters, standing at the head of the rack, "And him. Get her onto the table."

Her. Me.

I look up sharply, meeting the eyes of the newcomer. There's a shared shred of despair as Algernon approaches, and his familiar tight grasp disrupts our locked gazes. He's harsh as he drags me over to the table and I stumble behind him, taking it all in. It's awful, frightening and it's fuelled my nightmares for a while now. I don't want to get onto it, and I fight when we're within a few steps of the rack.

Algernon turns swiftly, a sharp slap across my cheek ending the pitiful struggle. I whimper, skin smarting as his hands go beneath my armpits and he hoists me onto the table.

It's hard to see anything through the sheen of tears, but I feel the cold metal as it snaps around my ankles, forcing the limbs into place before he does the same to my arms.

Once he's finished he steps back, admiring his handiwork before turning to the new guy.

The newcomer was merely watching us before, the way a lion would watch its prey if the prey had managed to injure it. Predatory yet cautious, but as Algernon moves towards him the odd calm that stilled his movements earlier dissipates, leaving behind a frantic, almost delirious energy about the man.

I'm too scared to really care though, especially as two cold fingers press to either sides of my temples

I shudder, breath escaping in a wheeze as she stares down at me from above, and that breath dissolves into a sob as she raises a brow. She secures a strap of leather over my forehead, holding me in place.

Her mouth is pinched, tangles of hair falling out of the permanent bun she has in a blonde halo, "Remain still, Evelyn. You move and you may very well die."

I sniffle, swallowing the lump residing in my throat.

The guy is close now, his struggle evident in the sounds emanating from him and Algernon both. Algernon is strong though, and the guy is clearly injured if the blood stain that's been steadily growing across his midsection is anything to go by. His lean frame betrays his strength though, and Algernon is struggling. He manages to push him to the head of the table and I watch the guy as his strangely coloured eyes dart to me, even as his head is yanked back by Algernon. Something pushes against the cloth covering his mouth… teeth? Pointed teeth?

I don't know, but the man's frantic gaze mirrors my own.

Still Algernon struggles, Algernon who has the strength of ten men. Yet this stranger is fighting him almost easily despite being secured by ropes.

The fighting ceases when my mother steps forwards though - the man stops, eyes wide as she moves.

It's over before he knows it and I flinch, her hand lightning fast as the small blade pierces his neck, slicing it deep and clean.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, shocked silence following the move before blood tunnels out of the wound. He slumps forwards over the carefully placed bowl, blood swallowing the herbs and spices, swallowing the bones that litter the utensil.

She begins to chant. Things no one should know about, things no one should be doing. Evil like this, it drains the air, sapping away any remnants of humanity. The atmosphere sizzles, tightening with anticipation as the blood begins to bubble, responding to her monotonous words.

Her eyes are white when I look up, desperate for something familiar to look into, especially as wisps of light begin to rise from the guys open neck, coalescing into a ball of glowing silk that hovers in the air.

Those white unseeing eyes turn to me as she continues to chant, arms raised, the unfamiliar words like acid to the ears. The same blade that she used to slice into his neck glints between her fingers, and she presses it to where my jaw meets my ear.

And then she cuts.

* * *

 _Dean_

Dean gasps, a guttural moan leaving his lips and abruptly the scene vanishes, disintegrating as his head literally – or at least it feels that way – explodes. He collapses, thrown out of the memory and back into reality with the softness of a punch to the face. Blood collects in his mouth as he staggers away from the chair, stumbling to his hands and knees.

Similar groans erupt from the mouths of his brother, but Dean is too focused on the ear splitting headache to really acknowledge it. He coughs, red dots splattering against the concrete beneath his hands.

"Cas?" He breathes, voice raw, "Cas?"

The angel makes a sound at the back of his throat.

"What the hell was that?" he turns to the angel, hands still bracing himself against the ground as blood drips from his bottom lip. His knees ache, a dull throb that mimics the pain in his head.

"I'm not sure," Cas says as he sits forwards, hands cradling his head.

"It was all fine and dandy until the bitch started spewing… Latin or whatever that was-"

"Wasn't Latin," Sam mutters, but Dean continues.

"-And then all of a sudden my brains exploding and I'm spitting out blood."

"I don't know what it was," Cas repeats, although he looks just as worried, "But it was very powerful, and it did not want us to watch anymore of what was about to happen."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean snorts, sitting back against the chair. He spits out the collection of blood in his mouth, grimacing.

"Did you see the light?" Sam finally says, pushing hair back from his face.

Dean raises a brow, "You mean that glowing ball that slipped out of the guy's throat?"

Sam nods, eyes falling on the angel.

Cas opens his mouth, but a strangled sound from the bed disrupts his reply.

Eve.

Except she's not okay, far from it. She's shaking, her body seizing and Dean moves without thinking, legs eating up the distance as he moves to her frame. His hands feel useless as he hovers for a moment, his brother coming up behind him.

What the hell do you do for someone having a seizure?

He grabs her arms, pinning her to the bed as her lips tinge red, her muscles quaking beneath his fingers as he watches on, eyes never resting on one area of her body for longer than a moment.

"Cas, what the hell is happening?" he all but shouts, and the angel moves to the foot of the bed.

"I don't know," he snaps back, and Dean rolls his eyes at the snarky tone, "I don't know everything Dean, believe it or not."

"Okay, now's not the time for you to grow a backbone," he growls back, "Just… help me!"

His exclamation is for nought though, because the shaking subsides as abruptly as it started and Eve relaxes – more, she slumps against the bed with an exhausted rattle of a sigh.

Dean rises, peering over into her face.

Her eyes snap open and he jumps, the bloodshot blue irises appearing, and the pupils expand.

And then she's moving, her hands shooting out and wrapping around his neck in an instant. The chain connecting the cuffs together wrap tightly around the front of his throat as one of her hands clutches the short strands of hair on the back of his head, and the other tightens on the back of his neck. He gasps as air cuts off abruptly, the chains biting into his skin.

Her canines drop, white and threatening and his eyes widen. She strikes like a cobra, dragging him down and opening her mouth as she meets him halfway.

Dean tenses. The deadly sharp tips dig deep, uncomfortably so as a heavy clank registers in his ears, his heart stuttering as the awful sound of teeth against metal sounds in his ears. But that metal has saved his life. Instead of ripping out his throat, the chain obstructs her bite and the sharp teeth merely nudge at his skin.

The shouts of his brother are only just registering and a second later he feels hands prying Eve's off of his head.

Took them long enough.

She lets go in an instant, falling back to the bed as Dean lurches away, a hand pressed to his neck.

Sam looms over him, checking for any signs of blood. When he's apparently happy with the lack of injury he scowls heavily, "Stop letting her grab you man! God, I didn't think it would be such a damn problem!"

Castiel appears behind his brother, both of them towering above him but he ignores their stern gazes, instead he looks through their legs.

Eve looks bewildered to say the least, her chained arms resting sloppily over her frame, her eyes wide and unseeing as she stares up at the ceiling, breathing heavily.

Dean stands, looking down at his hand. Yeah, no blood. Still, his neck aches like a bitch and he rubs it for good measure, frowning at his brother, "Well what was I supposed to do? Just let her continue to have a seizure?"

Sam and Cas share a look before facing him again, "Yes!"

Castiel raises a brow, "To be fair Dean, it is said that one of the worst thing you can do for a person who is having a seizure is to hold them down."

Dean opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, "Well how was I supposed to know that?"

Castiel shrugs, but Sam is still pissed, "Did we not just have a conversation about avoiding getting yourself killed? Did you forget about all that?"

"No!"

"Then why help her? If she died or something because of it, it solves our problem anyway!"

Dean pauses, swallowing. His eyes land on the girl blinking blearily up at the ceiling. Confusion is apparent on her face, and she's pale.

She looks young.

"I don't know," Dean says, offering his own shrug, "I don't know Sammy. What do you want me to say? I saw her seizing up so I helped."

Sam presses a hand to his head, turning away. Cas just continues to squint at Dean, his head inclined ever so slightly and Dean frowns at him, hackles ready to rise.

"Dean," Sam says quietly, his voice low, "She's trying to kill you."

"I know that."

There's a heavy pause before his brother continues, "Just… If anything like that happens again, let Cas and I deal with it," Sam turns to him, cutting Dean off with a hand, "Come on man, you promised. At the end of the day she's still trying to kill you, and we know with each passing hour the urge gets stronger for her."

Dean sighs after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, "Okay."

When a very soft, almost indiscernible exhale sounds from the bed they turn to it as one, and all of their brows rise as they regard Eve.

She's fast asleep, except this time she's dozing peacefully.

They're silent for a few seconds before Dean bothers to register the situation, "So… We going back in or?"

Sam raises a brow, eyes landing on the angel in the room.

"I can probably guide and protect us all long enough to see one or two more memories, although we will have to be extra vigilant. I believe the reason behind the abrupt departure from earlier was due to the importance of that particular memory. Whoever designed the wards and placed them within Eve definitely did not want us to see whatever was about to occur, and although the rest of Eve's mind is protected, it's not as deadly as the memories focusing around the rack. Perhaps later on we will be able to focus on the rack, but right now…"

"It's a bit risky," Sam finishes, and Castiel nods.

"What about the dream root?" Dean says, "Do we need another dose or?"

Castiel frowns, pressing a hand against both of their shoulders. A few seconds pass before he moves away, "No, I think anymore would be harmful, as the dream root is still in your systems. I'll aid the root in putting you to sleep, and let it naturally take over once we're in there."

They nod, following Cas to their seats. He presses two fingers to their foreheads in turn and they're out once again, and Dean opens his eyes to the memory.

* * *

 _Eve_

I blink, flinching when something flutters behind me. Whirling towards the sound, I search the woods only for it to hiss again on my left and I jump, spinning in its direction. Multiple times it whispers against my ears, and each time I drag in a breath of fresh air through lips that feel like they're turning blue.

The stillness of the trees is the only thing that stares back at me, the dark trunks uniform in all directions.

The scuffle of a squirrel or a rabbit against the floor scrapes my ear drums and I press my palms to my ears, a low keening sound escaping my mouth before I can swallow the noise.

When it's all too much, when the scampering of tiny feet against broken leaves becomes too deafening I lash out, slamming a palm into one of the trees.

A squeak sounds, deafening in the quiet and I rear back, vomit rising as the feeling of fur beneath my hand finally registers.

Something falls to the ground when I pull away.

A squirrel. One with a newly broken leg and I swallow, sweat dotting my brow despite the coldness of the night.

"Oh God," I whisper, clutching my bruising hand as I begin to crouch.

It attempts to walk away, tiny black eyes frantic now and I look away.

My fault. I did that.

Leaves crunch behind me and I stand, turning on the newcomer a bit too quickly. The potential threat rustles behind a bush, but Algernon appears out of it a second later. He stops mid step when he sees me, foot hovering a few inches off of the ground. He presses it down slowly and I watch the entire time, breathing hard in the pale moonlight.

Something whooshes away constantly, a thud that follows a rhythm and I twitch, head jerking involuntarily. Thud-whoosh, thud-whoosh. Over and over, and it's coming from him.

"What's happening to me?"

Algernon raises a brow, "Don't worry about it, you'll get used to the change eventually."

"So it's permanent?" I whisper, hands covering my ears once again.

Algernon shrugs, "Hopefully."

The revelation is startling and I'm far too overwhelmed to really acknowledge the way Algernon drags me back through the woods, too focused on the barrage of sounds that never seem to stop. Eventually our house comes into view and I stumble to a stop, hearing the muted breaths of my mother and sister within. Dry heaves work their way up my throat, sudden and absolute and Algernon merely watches me.

"Not the birthday you were wanting then, eh?"

I blink slowly, staring down at the dewy grass. I shake my head when I hear his sigh, the dry heaves finally subsiding.

The door to the house opens with a creek, and she steps out onto the small wooden porch, expression indifferent. As if she hasn't altered me in some way, as if she hasn't performed black magic, a magic so dark and menacing it echoes within me, even now.

The indifference morphs into a smile when Algernon nods, and I stand slowly, heart pounding. My own heartbeat is almost deafening, and I glance between the two.

Clearly whatever they wanted to happen was a success, and the knowledge makes me sick.

What are they doing to me?

* * *

"Take her out, get some food fer us, then when you're back we start again."

"Arms that feel far too heavy barely respond, so instead I nod, lip swelling. It feels puffy and it burns whenever I try to move it, so I settle on adopting the blank expression my mother always has. I gather up a basket, moving slowly.

The little girl clambers to her feet once I'm ready, eyes already downcast as she waddles over to me, still learning how to fully coordinate her limbs. She's still so small, but I watch her struggle impassively, jaw working as she finally comes to my side.

She offers me a tooth grin and I grimace, looking away. When we're unceremoniously shoved out the door I stalk forwards, a little gangly myself. I only stop when I hear the childlike huffing of a small person trying to keep pace.

I glare over my shoulder, not surprised to find her waddling after me. Algernon is openly glaring from the door and I meet his gaze, withering under the dark stare. It's clearly meant to communicate something – probably to ensure that their favourite doesn't die.

I wait, stopping every so often as she stops to admire the view, a very childlike curiosity pulling her gaze in many different directions.

We're nothing alike, and as I watch her study the trees with a calm that's at odds with her tiny stature, wavering on her feet I feel a twinge of annoyance.

"Hurry up," I bark.

She jumps, wide blue eyes flickering to me, confusion and hurt shining within their depths. For such a young girl, barely a toddler she appears to be aware of a few things, and a slither of guilt tightens my chest. I push it aside though, mouth twisting as she follows.

It takes longer than it should to get everything that we want, mostly because she insists on stopping to look at everything. I should probably wait for her, maybe be closer to her but the further I go the better I feel.

There's this damnable ache in my chest whenever I look at her, whenever I see the lack of bruises on her skin when I'm positively littered with the marks they leave behind.

It doesn't seem fair.

I remember the beatings started at a young age – in fact, I don't remember a time without violence, yet here she is…

The jealousy makes me feel like a monster, because that's what I'm becoming. How can one be jealous of their own sister for not taking a beating? How can I comfortably stand myself when these thoughts plague my mind?

When she falls over I sigh, stopping as the tell-tale wail of a child in pain penetrates my overly sensitive ears. We're not in the centre of the village now, but still people stare. They always do.

I approach her quickly, scowling down as she rubs her eyes, sat on her bottom in the dirt. Her knee looks red and angry, the fall having ripped through her thin clothing.

"Get up," I mutter, and she looks up at me through teary blue eyes.

When she doesn't move I sigh again, crouching down to her level, "You need to get up right now, I'm not messin' about."

This only makes her cry harder, silent tears trekking down her slightly chubby cheeks. Her bottom lip sticks out, and I huff as more whispered words of gossip sound around us.

I refuse to acknowledge them though, even as the uncomfortableness of the situation pulls at my thoughts, urges me to wrap this up quickly. So I scoop her up into my arms. She stiffens, but she's a lot lighter than I thought she would be, her bones a little too obvious in my arms. It has me pausing long enough for her to squirm around, eventually settling on wrapping her tiny legs around my waist and resting a head on my shoulder.

I stiffen, the bodily contact entirely unwelcome. When someone touches me it usually means one thing – pain.

The spine tingling sensation of eyes on me has surreptitiously casting my gaze across those who have bothered to stop and watch the spectacle. I'm used to it, but as I look up I catch a pair of brown eyes set in a boyish face that I haven't seen before.

The boy is young, maybe the same age as me, and as I meet his gaze his slight smile drops into a frown, his eyes scanning the array of bruises across my face.

I look away quickly, focusing on the girl in my arms.

The walk back is quick and a little tiring, what with carrying a child and two baskets worth of food. As we approach Algernon opens the door, his brow heavy across his eyes as he regards us in the grey light. The overcast sky looks fit to burst, matching his temper.

"What happened?"

"She fell."

His eyes narrow, and as I set her down on the porch she clings to me for a second, tiny fingers tightening in the wisps of hair that have escaped my loose bun. I grimace once again, pulling her hands away.

She looks at me then, familiar blue eyes flashing with worry as Algernon takes a tiny arm in his hand and practically drags her into the house. For a second I move forwards, not really sure what I'm about to do but stop, letting them go.

They're gone for a few seconds, the muttered words of those inside louder than what they should be. I can hear the hiss in my mother's voice, hear her accusatory tone and the request for swift punishment.

I swallow, staring down at the porch as I wait. The door opens with a soft whisper, and I don't bother to glance up.

I know what awaits, and when a hand clasps my shoulder I flinch, gnawing on the skin of my cheek.

"Come on then," he mutters, and I nod, following him to the basement, watching the belt as it swings in his hands.

When he's finished, when the beating stops he leaves me there on the floor of the basement, wallowing in self-pity. And he blows out the candles that light the room, taking the last one as he heads to the door.

"Please..." I cough, the taste of copper bitter in my mouth, "Please can you leave the light?"

Algernon raises a brow, his face barely discernible in the limited light source emanating from the flame in his hands.

He blows it out, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Awareness seeps back into existence slowly, rousing the dormant parts of my mind as I rub away the tiredness that pulls at my face.

Grimacing, I open my eyes to the Sam and Dean's dungeon, but I don't move.

I remember that beating. I remember the belt and the resulting cries of pain that eventually softened into nothing, all because of her falling over. It still seems unfair, even now.

When I roll, I'm surprised to find the three musketeers just rousing from their own sleep in the chairs opposite me, and it comes rushing back in an instant.

Their knowledge of my past, their apparent awareness of the sordid details of Algernon and my mother. To what extent I don't know, and I desperately hope that they merely know their names, know about their existence rather than anything else.

I remember their words clearly.

Dream root.

I still can't quite remember what it does. Algernon and my mother insisted upon teaching me everything that they could get their hands upon, their motives strange at the time. Now I value the information, but it tends to become jumbled.

Judging from its name alone I assume it's something to do with dreaming, and my throat tightens instantly, mouth going dry as I sit up.

Dean rouses properly first, green eyes fluttering as they open. When he meets my unwavering gaze he flinches, swallowing the reaction with a gruff sound and a frown.

"Dream root," I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, "Dream root."

Why would they ever want to focus on my dreams?

Often times they are just nonsense, if I'm lucky anyway. Sure, they're mostly nightmares that draw inspiration from my past, but what good will that –

I stop, freezing in place as muscles go on lock down. Dean seems to sense the change in the room also, and I meet his cautious gaze with a coldness that is at odds with the burning anger that's now beginning to boil my blood.

"Dream root," I say for the third time, except my voice is low, "You're using it to get into my head, see my memories, aren't you?"

Suddenly what the angel bitch from earlier was ranting about makes sense.

I remember it. I remember now. The coordinated efforts of the strange, uninitiated demons - that were in fact not demons but angels - as they fought me, unnaturally strong. I remember being surprised at their power, but I brushed it aside when I killed them after they put me to sleep. Demons were never that strong, but after killing them I was pulled back into the fray of death.

I remember the same thing happening then, the dreams of my past returning with aching clarity.

And that's what they're doing now. But for what?

"Why?" I say finally, just as Sam and Cas both awaken too, "What do you want with my past?"

Dean refuses to answer, and Sam's jaw tightens as he catches the tail end of our conversation.

"I mean, it's nothing that's particularly interesting," I continue, looking away with a smile, "Beyond the standard family dramas it's all fairly typical."

Ha. Yeah. Okay.

The lie runs smoothly though, and a slither of doubt, of worry tugs at my spine as Dean raises a single brow.

"That's what the drinks for though, right? It's to put me to sleep, I remember now," the details of the herb swim back to me, "If you drink it too, you can join me up here," I press a finger to my temple, the chains rattling, "You can have a gander at what's rattling about in my head, but for what purpose? Because I can assure you now, you won't find anything useful up here," I tap my head a little harshly to emphasise my point.

Sam's mouth twists a little, "Yeah, we'll see."

A small laugh bursts out of my lips. Unbelievable.

"Okay, carry on wasting your time," I say, focusing on the reddening marks around Dean's neck. Has he been in a fight since the last time I saw him? I swear he was fine before they drugged me. Regardless, I continue, "Because that's what you're doing right now. That's what those angels did when they tried this stunt the last time. You won't gain a thing from up here, because surely if I knew how to end the curse I would have done it myself by now?"

At this they have no reply, and instead they choose to resolutely ignore me as they pack their things away.

The memories still cling to the fringes of my mind however, and I'm aware of the sickly feeling of dried sweat that clings to my arms, my neck.

It was one of the worst times, the start of something horrible, and as they head out of the room my fingers tighten around the hold I have on my bed sheets.

Dean hesitates at the door, the retreating footsteps of his brother and the angel echoing beyond the room. His eyes scan my frame as his hand rests on the light switch, and I pale.

The darkness will be hungry tonight, I know it. The memories they evoked thrive in the dark, and I swallow the fear, jaw working overtime.

His dark green stare seems to deepen as he worries his lip between his teeth, a move I haven't seen him pull before.

And then he leaves. Without turning the light off.

Huh.


	19. Chapter 18: Changing Tides

**Hello everyone!**

 **Long time no see, I am the worst I know. Uni has finished but there's been so much going on, so I can only apologise for the long delay in uploads!**

 **I've had this story in my head everyday, I didn't forget it at all, but writers block is a real thing. I just couldn't figure out how I wanted to progress, as I feel like this portion of the story is starting to drag on a little too much. So, for anyone getting tired of taking a stroll down memory lane, you can rejoice! Next chapter may feature a few more but it should be over soon! I don't want to reveal everything.**

 **I hope you like this one, and I'm sorry if it's God awful. There's hardly any editing in here beyond spell check, as I didn't want to delay it any longer so if the quality is down I apologise, I hope to be back to normal and posting regularly again!**

 **Hope you enjoy, it may be beneficial to skim last chapter if you're all a bit confused on what's happening, a little refresher.**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

 **18: Changing Tides**

They return, of course they do. I'm here to be observed now, and the knowledge sours my mood with every visit.

Now that I'm aware of the fact that they're peering into my head, now that I know that they're delving into areas of my past that even I try to forget, my rage is an almost constant presence.

I refuse to cooperate, smirking and jerking away whenever they approach. Cold and resolute, but they still force the liquid down my throat. I can't really stop it but with each forceful slumber the urge to kill rises.

Not just Dean now, too.

Sam and Cas, they've invited a mark of death upon their heads that has nothing to do with the curse, but is most definitely fuelled by it. The anger urges it onwards, and I am perilous to its advance.

They have to pay in some way, and with each forced nightmare my resolve strengthens.

I see what they see now, and I curse my woefully naïve ways before. The nightmares were not just a by-product of the drink they gave me, nor where they conjured up by the dark. The memories were not a coincidence, and they've been observing every sordid moment from the start.

Each memory they evoke dirties my thoughts for a long time afterwards, it muddles them into a weird amalgamation of sadness, emptiness and despair.

Yet… They also manage to find the ones that are not so bad, the ones that kept me sane during those – ahem – trying times. These memories I treasure above all else, and I don't know whether to thank them for breaking up the monotony of beatings or curse them for intruding upon moments that were meant for no one else.

When the beatings come to a close after I suffered down in that basement, the one they watched transformed into something different, something horrifyingly beautiful.

It was the first time I saw my sisters face down there, a small round head appearing from behind the door. Two big eyes regarded me curiously, before they teared up. I remember being angry, I remember the initial rush of hatred that eclipsed all else when I saw her tears. I didn't cry, so she shouldn't either, not anymore.

But her tears were for me, and so was the shred of food she hid within her clothes, too.

The realisation that she came down there, knowing the potential consequences of such actions erased every ounce of hate I had for her. She was barely old enough to even understand what was happening, and she brought me food that she'd been given for herself, forgoing dinner that night.

I woke up quietly after that memory, refusing to speak. They left with a solemn demeanour, and Dean was the last to leave. I could feel his presence even as I stared up at the ceiling, face bereft of emotion.

He leaves the light on permanently after that.

So many memories swim back into existence with their visits. Things that I thought I forgot, probably forcing them into the back of my mind to spare my own sanity. Those nights are the hardest, especially when they repeatedly dwell on the actual aspects of my transformation.

They watch on as I suffer, as a new unlucky SOB is brought into the basement with me to become my mother and Algernon's new plaything. Their visits are brief, and so is their survival down there.

I still don't know what or how she did it, but after each session I gained a new ability. Those abilities then transformed as something new was introduced, mutating further and further with each cut of a knife.

I assume they watched the pathetic attempt of escape I made on my sixteenth birthday, aided by someone that I thought I could trust. The boy from the village… each time I recall his face my stomach rolls. The Winchesters probably watched as my sister and I raced across the fields, a pitiful bag of food and clothes strapped to my back as I tugged her along behind me, growing frantic when her small legs couldn't keep up with my own. They couldn't keep up with the new speed I had gained from their experiments.

The most recent ability up until that point was the straw that broke the camel's back. It changed me irrevocably, but it also made me strong, strong enough to attempt an escape that _he_ was so insistent upon. I remember his face clearly despite the nausea it invites, the dark locks that seemed handsome at the time, the boyish face that I thought oozed kindness.

The same boyish face that greeted me on the road we agreed to meet up on, flanked by the two people in the world that I feared the most.

I nearly died that night, so did my sister. And that's how they knew they had me, seeing her broken, seeing her crying for help… it broke something in me too.

The promises I made that night sealed both of our fates, the agreement we settled upon to ensure her survival.

The worst ability of all occurred at around my eighteenth birthday, and of course the trio manage to conjure it up.

The change is something I recognise now, the taste of dream root bitter in my mouth. As the brothers become hazy, I lose the present version of myself.

The wind is frigidly cold tonight, a force to be reckoned with. The only light is that provided by the pale moon, an omniscient presence that creates a sense of serenity despite the circumstances that seem to have brought me here. It highlights my pale skin, covered only by the white shift I have on. It's the only thing that's keeping me from freezing to death.

Algernon and my mother stand to the right, bundled up enough to stave off the cold and I shiver once again, feet bare. The grass is harsh, nearly frozen and it does little to calm my nerves.

Perhaps my fright is due to the fall that awaits below, a familiar sight that seems altogether unfamiliar now. The sea is as black as oil now, only interrupted by the froth that rises whenever the waves crash against the cliff.

They're talking, about what I don't know but I'm completely aware of the control they have now. It causes a cold sweat to adorn my already clammy hands, to dot at my forehead. Nausea seems to be a constant presence, and it does little to stop the shaking my muscles insist upon doing.

"And what if she dies?" Algernon finally says, his voice breaching the deafening silence.

"Then we have Abigail to take her place," she replies, lifting an indifferent shoulder. I stiffen at the name.

"You promised," I say, looking over my shoulder, "You said that if I did what you said, if I never tried to escape again you wouldn't touch her.

My mother's brows rise, "And we will keep that promise, but death is also an escape. You die, she takes your place."

Every inch of my soul burns with the need to do something, to wipe the condescending expression off of her face. But… she dangles Abi in front of my face and I concede, because what else am I to do.

I won't allow history to repeat itself.

"What is it that you want me to do?" I breathe, eyeing the water below. The wind stings my eyes.

"We want to see if what I did last has actually worked," she replies, moving to the opposite side of Algernon as he closes in. Her eyes land pointedly on my side, just below my ribs.

I know what she's referring to and the scar twinges, a reminder.

"Now we want to see the full extent of your ability to… recover from your injuries."

My chest feels tight, heart stuttering before beating harder than ever. On instinct I step back, but the sharp point of a knife embedding into the skin of my back stops any movement. It doesn't break the skin, but it stings enough to clearly state its intent.

"If you know what's good for ya' girl, you'll jump," Algernon growls.

Jump? They can't be serious.

I peer over the edge, throat tightening impossibly so. It's… they've gone mad.

"If you don't jump, I'll push you in myself, and then I'll drag you out and make you regret hesitating."

God. I can't. I can't do it.

Seconds tick by as I waver, toes kissing the edge and the breeze swirls up, throwing my hair into disarray. I feel paralysed, each time I glance down it's like the air is sucked out of my lungs, inhaled by the ravenous mouth of the ocean below.

I groan, the point of the blade digging in even more.

And then the choice is taken away.

Hard hands punch into my back and the edge disappears, my own screech piercing the cacophony of noise below. It rips out of my throat, raw and uninhibited as air rushes past, harsh and blinding. I scramble for purchase as the feeling of weightlessness rolls and lifts my stomach, and then it's over as quickly as it began.

The blinding rush of sensation collapses with a distinct and painful smack with the water, and the icy embrace robs whatever breath I had left.

I sink far, the dark absolute. Water burns my eyes, and it's beyond cold. The surface wavers up above, the distance growing.

An instinctive inhalation brings a scalding cascade of water down my throat and I yell into the abyss, the noise consumed. Drowning is… it's pure agony, red hot as it lances through me.

And then the struggle reaches its epitome and my vision, already hindered by the dark begins to cobweb over. Tranquillity overthrows panic.

I don't know how long it lasts – the cold dark feeling that steels my muscles and swallows me whole – it feels almost instantaneous, a floating mass of nothing and no one.

The agony returns abruptly though, a violent cough wrenching my eyes open. I sputter, water spilling out of my lips as I stare up at the night sky.

I'm a little frantic as I take in my surroundings, throat raw as an endless amount of water funnels out of my mouth. I barely even taste it, but it's warm.

Algernon's face eclipses the moon, his hair dripping down his face, his shirt clinging to his chest.

The usually stoic face cracks into a wide smile, a malicious one that suggests that he's not happy with my safety.

"Did you resuscitate her?" My mother's voice pierces the night.

Algernon shakes his head, "No, I didn't touch 'er. She was dead, no pulse or nothing."

I scramble away as soon as I am able, clumsy and shivering. I feel wrong, sick. Cold.

"Stay away from me," I hiss as Algernon reaches out, voice raw.

His face grows darker, eyes narrowing as he moves to stand.

"Leave her be, she has done enough tonight."

Algernon nods after a few tense seconds of staring one another down, and just like that they walk away. They leave me behind, they leave me to freeze on the grass. As if nothing happened at all, like I didn't just tumble to my death.

Did I just die?

He said I had no pulse…

The hushed footsteps of someone running drags my attention upwards, and my sister stumbles down the hill leading to the sandy bank we're on. I barely register it as her small, pale arms encircle my shoulders. She's crying I think, but I'm not.

She helps me up and she walks me home, having provided a change of clothes that whilst they provide little warmth, they're a far cry better than the sodden ones I've left behind.

We return to house, return to the basemen and one last sad gaze from her is all I receive, before the dark returns.

* * *

I wake with a start, swallowing past the heavy feeling in my throat. It's hard to do so, even harder when I feel three sets of eyes land on me.

That moment… that particular moment changed the game. It changed the way Algernon saw me, how he approached me. I was no longer destructible. His friends, the ones he found to train me in areas he knew nothing about also became aware of that too.

It became a living hell, and they're making me relive it.

They leave one by one, occasional glances thrown my way and I clench my jaw, teeth grinding together almost painfully.

And when they return they see even more. They see the time I had to survive out in the forest starved half to death, they see all of the twisted ways she tested how much shit I could take and still survive through.

I don't understand what they're doing. I don't understand how any of this helps them. I think this is what pisses me off the most. I don't understand.

The break in the monotony of their visits occurs rarely, but when it does occur I find that I'm actually starting to welcome the moments.

Dean enters the dungeon without his usual swagger, his trademark smirk barren from his face. This alone should worry me, but lately the man has adopted a sullen way about himself.

He addresses me with a serious glance, pulling up a chair and asking the usual questions. What does this mean? What could that mean? Why did they do the things they did?

I answer each one with a silent glare, refusing to respond. Eventually he sighs, evergreen eyes no longer betraying his agitation.

No, instead the depths of his gaze harbours something else, something that if I didn't know any better I would hazard a guess to say it was pity, and I resent it.

"Eve…"

And all of a sudden it's just a bit too much. This entire thing. It was a little funny at first, a little annoying maybe. Mostly, it was something that occurred because of my own hesitation, and I think I allowed this to go on for too long. The boulder sitting on my shoulders has been growing with each passing day, and seeing their gazes shift from outright hatred to still contemptuous, but also pitying… I just, I can't deal with it.

"Don't," I say, thumbs rubbing the sides of my index fingers, "Just… Don't."

"We can help you, if you let us."

I don't laugh at this anymore. His tone has changed drastically in the time that I've been here. He still regards me with a certain degree of revulsion, I can see it in the way his face tightens the longer he looks at me, but beneath the hate lies dare I say it, empathy? It's colouring his tone with a kindness that's at odds with his usually gruff demeanour. Dean is brash. I've seen him in action and both of them can be cruel to be kind. He's a hero like his brother, and I know that he's seen horrors too, sometimes I think those horrors rival my own.

He is a brutal force to be reckoned with, one that I will eventually put down. He knows this, yet now he's preaching the same shit his brother did in the alley that day.

We can help you.

"You can't help me," I finally say, "We've been over this time and time again, it's impossible. And you're forgetting one very important thing."

"What's that?"

I lean forwards, removing the mask that keeps my emotions at bay. I let them rage forwards, eyes burning, "I don't want your help."

He's quiet as his eyes trace my face, his own features barely acknowledging I said anything at all, remaining aloof to the layer of disgust that roughens my voice. His hands rest loosely on his knees and I sit back too.

"I don't believe that."

I don't reply, instead I snort and look away. When the silence stretched on for a little too long he speaks again, mouth pulling up at one side, "I've seen the change."

"What change?"

He looks away, almost smirking, "The change in your relationship with your sister."

I raise a brow, "So?"

"You hated her."

I incline my head, "At first, yes." There's no point in lying, he's seen it all anyway.

"I saw the way you reacted that night, when Algernon nearly beat her to death after you tried to run away."

I scoff, "Did you enjoy that particular show, Dean? Did the beatings aid your investigation, did they satisfy the curiosity? I mean, you've watched so many of them now."

His jaw tightens, but that's it.

"I know that you're not completely off the deep end. At least, I hope that's the case. I sure as hell don't like you still, and given the opportunity I'd still send your ass to purgatory or wherever it is that you'd go once you croak. You're still a monster, but I think you have a shred of decency left in you."

"Please," I groan, "Spare yourself the embarrassment. Did we not discuss this all those weeks ago when I nearly killed you?"

He swallows, but there's not an ounce of fear on his face. And suddenly I think I get it.

"This is about Sam, isn't it?" I say, voice low, "That's why you're focusing on my sister."

The subtle change in his face is enough, his features tightening once again, hardening.

"It's not about you, it's not about your death," I continue, musing, "It's about him, and probably the angel, too. And that's why you're starting to suddenly push his agenda, one that I think even he's abandoned."

Dean grimaces, "Sam's…"

"Sam," I supply, and he nods, "Even I can see he wants to save you, desperately. As is expected, he's your brother after all. But you… you don't care, do you? Not about your death, you care about what happens to him though, what effect it will have on him."

And in this new light I view him in, it just makes the curse a whole lot harder to swallow.

"Just like you," he says, voice soft.

Just like me.

I submitted to them to save her, just like Dean will inevitably submit to me to save him.

When our eyes meet again the atmosphere changes, a deep sense of sadness swallowing the resolve we both manage to cling to despite the situations we've been forced into.

There's an understanding now, one that wasn't there before.

He loves his brother, I loved my sister.

But the world is a cruel place, and thus it's out of my hands.

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, "I wish I could help you, Dean."

I regret them instantly, because it shows the weakness that's routing its way through my head, the instability they've managed to create with my resolve. But it's not my resolve they have to worry about.

It's not me they have to be concerned with, ultimately. I am as much a pawn in this as they are.

Dean's brows rise just a touch, his eyes widening and I look away, jaw clenched.

"If this… I mean," he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, "If this all falls through, and you do manage to get out of the chains and kill me, can I ask for one thing?"

I turn to him, waiting.

"Don't go after them. Don't try to kill Sam, don't try to kill Cas. Just… walk away."

I pull back, feeling the shutters going down. I don't want to help him, I don't want to see him in a new light.

But… it's his brother, his friend.

It's the least I can do, and I find that I'm nodding before I even truly think it over.

The relief on his face is almost palpable and those shutters are fully down now, and I dismiss any more attempts at conversation.

I refuse to allow him to make this any harder than it needs to be.

I refuse.

* * *

"How are you?"

The question hangs in the air, and the small girl besides me deliberates on it for a while. Her small arms fold cross her knees as she stares out across the water.

"Okay, I guess," She finally says, and I turn my head towards her. The grass is nice this time of year, soft and yielding, perfect for the picnic.

"Have you been doing your reading?"

A guilty shift of her eyes is all I get and I groan, sitting up too.

"Why not?"

She huffs, "It's boring."

"Of course it is, but it will help you."

She shrugs and I roll my eyes.

"If we are ever going to make it out of here, you need to know the very basics so you can start school, Abi. Otherwise none of those fancy schools will let you in. And I'm saving up as much as I can-"

"I know," she sighs, "It's just hard sometimes. The words don't always make sense, the big ones anyway, and Uncle Algernon shouts if he catches me doing stuff."

"Then come to me, bring them here on our day and I'll help you."

This seems to brighten her mood and I smile, pulling out the meagre meal I saved for especially for this. When I say I saved for it, I mean that I stole a coin or two whenever they ask me to run errands in the market for them.

So the meal is pitiful at best, but it suits us both just fine. This is our day, the only one of the month we get.

Once we're done we pack in relative silence, the mood dropping with each step that brings us closer to home, closer to reality.

They're waiting for us in the back garden, and I give her one last smile before following Algernon to the centre, aware of her eyes on my back.

She watches now, but only because I think it gives them a sick sense of joy to force her to.

We spar, I'm getting better at it, but it still sends me sprawling onto my back when one hit lands. I groan, especially when a booted foot presses down on my ribs.

"Is this what I'm payin' those goons for? Is this what I'm wastin' me money on? I thought you'd be better by now, I thought you'd have me off my feet in a second," He presses down again, eliciting another groan, "Have you not been paying attention? Do ya need a little more incentive, eh?"

And then he's not looking at me. I miss whatever happens next, stars are still dancing in my eyes but suddenly Abi's in his arms, and she's all I can see. Her eyes are wide, her jaw shaking as his meaty hands squeeze her biceps. She squeaks, kicking her legs as he lifts her higher.

"Maybe this will help," he says, and the slap is sound, a meeting of flesh that resounds in the empty space.

I don't think. I don't see much, but the haze of rage swallows me whole. One second I'm on the floor, the next I'm upright and my hands are no longer my own. Something evil consumes them, darkening the skin to the same colour as the night and claws stretch into life. I don't have chance to marvel at them, I don't have chance to do anything except stop this.

He drops her and I snarl, slamming both palms into his chest. He's flying, he goes back with a yell but I'm with him, dissipating in a cloud of dark wisps. I don't know how, but I appear next to the house, watching as his frame collides solidly with the wall. His breath leaves him in an explosive grunt, and I pick him up by the throat before he can fall.

"Don't touch her," I hiss, but my voice isn't my own. It's rough and dark, inhuman.

I squeeze, every limb burning with a foreign rage, an entity that didn't exist until now, coating my veins with oil. His eyes bulge, his face turning purple.

"Don't you ever touch her."

And then sensation stops. It just ceases to exist. Muscles lock onto bone and I groan, dropping the man as my legs drop too, shaking as I collapse. The grass welcomes me as I slump down, paralysed.

My mother lowers her raised hand, a cut bleeding freely across her palm and she's breathing hard too, blood pooling on the floor.

"Algernon, do not tempt her like that. I haven't got full control yet."

The man is too busy catching his breath to respond, raking in loud lungful's as I too breathe heavily, staring at the woman on the porch.

Our eyes meet, and I narrow my own.

This is… this is new.

This scares me.

* * *

 ** _Dean_**

The memory ends abruptly, and it doesn't end like it usually does. Nope, he's yanked out of Eve's head with a lack of gentleness that only Castiel can manage.

The angel removes his fingers from his forehead, stepping back and Dean rubs the spot, raising a brow at him.

"What are you doing?"

Castiel moves to Sam, pressing his fingers against his forehead too. His brother reacts similarly to him, gasping and waking with a start.

"What?" he mumbles, and Cas steps back.

"I believe we just witnessed a key factor in how the curse controls Eve."

Dean blinks, running through the memory.

"Her mother."

That's obvious enough, they always knew she had something to do with it, but the woman isn't around at the moment so that can't be it. And all she did was raise her hand-

Dean stops, jerking back, "The blood?"

Castiel nods, "Her blood. She cut her hand at some point, and I believe that it has something to do with the way the curse is fuelled. The curse itself no longer relies on her mother's blood - that much is obvious as the witches evoked the curse with the ring. But perhaps…"

Dean leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees, "So, this could be something, or it could be a bust if the curse doesn't need it anymore."

"It's the best we've got though, Dean," Sam says, leaning forwards himself, "So far it's the only thing we've got."

"And I also think I have a bead on Eve's original birthplace. The magic that seems to be blocking me is waning, which may be due to our repeated excursions in Eve's head. We may be exhausting whatever it is that prevents us from truly trespassing into the past, and although I still cannot visit her past I may be able to find where she was born, and perhaps find the house that she was raised in."

"If it's still in one piece," Dean says, and Sam shrugs.

"It might be, England has a lot of old buildings around still."

Cas nods, folding his arms, "I will attempt to follow the bead of magic linking me to her past, and hopefully it's enough to pinpoint the location. If so, if the house is intact we may find something that will end this once and for all."

Dean nods, standing. His legs feel a little shaky, and he thinks it may be due to the fact that Castiel wrenched them out of the dream world without warning. The dream root is probably still coasting through his system, which is great.

They leave Eve to her sleep, and he leaves the light on for her. Castiel disappears shortly after this, and Dean finds himself in his room not too long after, rock music pounding into his ears.

It soothes the nervous energy that has his knees bouncing constantly, and it chases away the memories still lingering in his head. God, they just won't leave sometimes.

But this may all be over soon. If Castiel can find the house, if they can travel to England they can see what's left there, and hopefully something will pop up.

Something may put a stop to this. And Sam will be safe.


End file.
